Focus
by Shadowmistress13
Summary: Franny's convinced that Father and Son need bonding time. Her solution: Cornelius needs to involve his son in the inventing process. But knowing his son's penchant for chaos, the Father of the Future finds himself reluctant to do so.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Meet the Robinsons, Disney has that privilege. If it were me…there'd have been a sequel.

Author's Note: Prepare yourself—everything you think you know about Wilbur is about to be challenged. Dun Dun Dun.

Oh, and apologies to Spelling Nazis, Grammar Police, and individuals well-versed in Science and Technology. I be but a humble fanfic writer, who hopes you enjoy the ride (and forgives the potholes in the road).

...and I also apologize to any readers who hoped this was an update for one of my other fics. Maybe you'll enjoy it anyways...shifty eyes. But enough of me blathering, onwards!

* * *

**FOCUS:**

Wilbur sighed from his perch on a counter, absently kicking his heel against the cabinet door beneath.

"Son" his father scolded lightly from his position across the room—eyes intent on the complex circuit board before him. "One more adjustment…"

Wilbur's eyes darted back to the large digital clock on the wall, which alternated between flashing in bright green: ROBINSON INDUSTRIES—LEADING THE WAY TO THE FUTURE TODAY—KEEP MOVING FORWARD

And the time:

3:47 PM

"Dad."

"Just a minute."

"Daaaaaad."

"I know, I know."

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad."

"Patience is a virtue."

"One I was born without" the thirteen-year-old quipped.

"Too true" Cornelius chuckled.

"Dad, I gotta go. The guys are expecting me-"

"I thought it was an optional practice? The schedule said-"

"-Well yeah, but you know the team's just not the same without me," Wilbur grinned, jabbing a thumb at his chest.

"So modest."

Wilbur rolled his eyes, before jumping off the counter.

"Dad-"

"-Done."

Cornelius finished bolting the back panel back on and stood back, admiring his work.

Wilbur thought it looked somewhat like a squat, giant metal hour glass wearing a shoe. The top half funneled down into the bottom half and a conveyor belt led it into an adjoining box—which reminded Wil of a pizza oven.

"LinenXR 90" his father announced proudly.

"Aaaand it does what?"

"Well you see it's a three step machine. It'll completely revolutionize laundry as we know it! See the dirty laundry is set in the top half, it gets washed then dropped into the bottom half, and once dry it'll pass into the final chamber where it's ironed and folded. It'll really help spare time and frustration, making it a boon for large households."

"…epic" Wilbur offered flatly.

Cornelius sighed. Kids…they just didn't appreciate clean, unwrinkled clothes.

Running a hand along the machine's seams, Wilbur noted offhandedly, "The welding is really straight."

Cornelius blinked. "Er, thanks" it wasn't quite the compliment, he'd been fishing for, but he'd take what he could get.

"I still don't see where I come in"

"It's very important" Cornelius informed his son. "I need another set of hands."

It wasn't a complete lie, though usually he'd just call on a co-worker. But Franny had spoken with him earlier that week, stating he needed more bonding time with his son.

She'd urged him to let Wilbur participate in more of his inventions. Invite him over to the company; let him get a feel for it all.

Who knows maybe he'd take to Science? Cornelius wisely refrained from pointing out that despite her countless attempts, Wilbur never took to Music.

He sighed. Maybe she was changing strategy or admitting defeat. She seemed downright determined that Wilbur should take after one of them. He wasn't so sure. Wilbur was…Wilbur. Adventurous, bold, brave…reckless, carefree, impatient, impetuous…

Wilbur and Science or Wilbur and Music…Cornelius winced…neither seemed quite his niche.

Though Cornelius loathed admitting it, he just…didn't really trust his carefree son in the tinkering stage.

Oh he knew that Wilbur was fantastic at operating perfected inventions—probably flew the Time Machine better than he did. But the mapping out, the calculating, the testing, the adjusting, the PATIENCE…

He normally let Wilbur flick switches or clean up spills. After all, his son had an unrivaled track-record for frying prototypes.

Still, Franny would want a full account of today's activities, so he was willing to have a little faith.

"So if you'll type in this sequence-" he guided Wilbur over to a computer, handing him a clipboard with a long line of numbers. "-We can start"

Wilbur glanced at the clipboard then back to his father's smiling face.

"What will _**you**_ be doing?"

He jerked a thumb back, "The switch"

Wilbur glanced at the massive flip switch (nearly the length of his arm) on the opposite side of the room, near the prototype.

"Why can't I do that part?"

"No Wilbur. Not this time. It's still an early prototype. Maybe on another one."

_Translation: If it explodes I want you far from shrapnel_.

"Really Dad, I can do it—no prob. Leave it to-"

"I'll handle it" Cornelius finished, gently but firmly coaxing his boy back towards the computer terminal…far from the switch.

"Come on Dad" Wilbur wheedled "This stuff's boring, I want-"

"No Wil."

Wilbur pouted, "This is 'cuz of last summer isn't it? Sheesh. You get hit by debris once and now…" He trailed off, raising an eyebrow "YOU'VE been in all sorts of explosions and you're nowhere near as tough as m-"

"Sequence Wilbur."

Recognizing that flat tone of finality Wilbur acquiesced, though not without a dirty look.

"Fiiiine."

Cornelius waited for Wilbur to settle in his seat before making his way toward the switch.

He shook his head sighing, it might've been an exciting highlight for the young teen—_**he'd**_ been unconscious, but for his father…he remembered all too vividly the horrific ambulance ride to the ER.

Sitting to the side (out of the way), as the vehicle zoomed down interstate.

For all his brilliance, he'd been completely useless—while the EMTs worked frantically to save his little boy.

So much blood and terror…his chest constricted at the painful memory. He released a shuddering breath. Never again. Not when he could help it.

He gripped the switch, looking over his shoulder at Wilbur.

"Ready?"

Wilbur glanced at the numbers in hand and the screen.

"Ready?"

"Uh…"

"Wil?"

The teen took a deep breath and punched in the numbers.

"R-ready" he called back, before adding under his breath "…I hope."

At first all seemed well, the top cycle began to spin—leisurely at first and then faster and faster until it began humming ominously.

There was a spluttering sound, a grating scrape, and then:

BOOM!

The machine began spitting out charred towels and clothing articles. Wilbur managed to dodge most of them, though one sock did smack him pretty good.

Cornelius heaved the switch back off.

Wil pealed said sock from his face, muttering, "When Laundry Attacks! Sounds like a lame Sci-fi flick."

"Wilbur?!" His father sprinted over, grabbing him by the shoulders and checking him over with a critical eye.

"I'm okay, Dad" and he was, but the machine….his eyes wandered over to the blackened prototype. Smoke billowed from its panels.

Prognosis: Not Good. Wilbur winced.

Confident that his son was alright, Cornelius focused on the terminal which was flashing ERROR on its screen.

His fingers flew across the keys and in moments, an output sheet sped out.

Cornelius ripped the page out, eyeing the data speedily.

"What did you type?" the blonde inventor barked, indignant and incredulous.

"I-uh-I-"

"What is this?!" mounting anger evident in his voice, "This is gibberish. Wil, half of these are letters! Letters Wilbur?"

"I-er-um"

"If you didn't feel like participating all you had to do was tell me."

"I-I-I-"

"That took several months and now I'll have to recalibrate the whole thing!"

"S-sorry Dad" his son replied meekly, eyes wide, skin pale.

Cornelius took several deep breaths before gritting out a terse, "It's alright." Deep exhale. "These things happen."

"I-I'm gonna go to practice now." Wilbur squeaked

He gave a sharp nod. Staring at the ruined prototype as his son all but fled the room.

* * *

The anger and annoyance dissipated as Cornelius tinkered away.

A couple of wires had been poorly soldered anyway. He might even swap out some of the software. In fact, it was going to be better now. Improved, he'd even found several areas where volts were being wasted.

Perhaps, it wouldn't take months to repair…Just a couple weeks…hopefully.

In fact the more time that passed, the worse he felt.

He kept thinking about what Franny had said.

He supposed deep down he DID want Wilbur to take after him.

Which was unfair of him; he'd always promised himself, he wouldn't set expectations like that.

Wilbur was his own person, he'd discover his place in the world and Cornelius would be happy for him. No matter what it was. And given the way they kept arguing about everything lately, Wilbur seemed more likely to be a professional stuntman than a quiet scientist/inventor.

It sometimes felt like they spoke a different language. He'd say one thing, and Wil would ignore, misconstrue, or twist his words.

Other times it felt like their conversations were more like battles than discussions. Franny insisted that it was the "Horrible Hormones of Teenagedom" setting in.

To which Cornelius would respond somewhat desperately "that he was only thirteen, couldn't he have waited a couple more years?"

The inventor sighed, sorely missing the days of endless hero-worship. Where little Wilbur would sit in Daddy's lap, content to watch Cornelius sketch blueprints. Brown eyes wide with adoration as he tried to understand each invention.

Days where Daddy was the smartest, most bestest Daddy ever! Where did all that sweetness go to?

He could seriously have done without all the defiance that Franny dismissed as "Testing Boundaries."

Especially since it felt like his son purposely set proverbial traps, ones he was always doomed to get snagged in. Ones that always revealed how "lame" and "outdated" and "stuffy" he was.

Maybe he wouldn't feel quite so bad, if his wife shared in them. But Wilbur never lobbed those her way.

On one occasion, after he'd been thoroughly trounced in a game of Chargeball, Wilbur abruptly declared that they were nothing alike.

Cornelius privately agreed and felt more than a little dejected from the certainty in the boy's voice; almost as though he were proud of the fact.

He caught constant glimpses of his wife in Wilbur: in the boy's looks, his straight-forward manner, his athleticism…

He was his mother's son from the cowlick to the karate moves.

What had he gained from dear ol' Dad?

Perhaps his lean frame, maybe his ears, or the childhood asthma (they both thankfully grew out of). There just wasn't much of him showing.

Then there were traits that were simply Wilbur: the witty asides, his melodramatic flair, his constant thrill seeking.

As for the smooth-talking…well he had a theory about that.

He'd used to leave James Bond movies on while he was tinkering.

Toddler Wil would sneak out of his pen and try to crawl onto Daddy's lap. He'd make such a nuisance of himself, that Cornelius would relent and move his pen into the lab.

After four or five attempts to play with Daddy failed, he'd finally just sit in his pen and watch the movie.

Sowing seeds for a devil-may-care attitude—exposing him to wanton use of explosions, violence, manipulation, and charm.

He knew Franny did the same: putting on programs, getting carried away with her frogs, not realizing that '_Toddler Tutelage: Teaching Your Baby To Enjoy Academics'_ swiftly ended at 4p.m. and _Super Galaxy Avengers_ began.

When BOTH of them were busy; Franny at concerts and he at Global Science Conventions, Carl was in charge.

The Television and Carl were practically Wilbur's surrogate parents. A fact that made Cornelius' insides squirm with guilt.

No wonder the T.V. always had Wilbur's utmost attention. They'd bonded in his early childhood.

Perhaps it was for a mixture of all these reasons that he'd agreed to let Wilbur come today.

Maybe regain some clout in his son's eyes.

He'd overreacted. True, the sequence Wilbur typed in was completely off. But he'd been genuinely apologetic. A rarity.

He'd come to the Chargeball practice and show there were no hurt feelings. Then maybe they could swing by the ice cream parlor. Let the boy get a triple scoop. Yeah, that'd put him back in good graces.

* * *

Cornelius arrived at the Chargeball Courts in fairly good spirits.

The explosion, while not ideal, was letting him refocus and strengthen the machine. Right. Focus on the Good. Keep Moving Forward.

As he approached the team, a chorus of "Hello Dr. Robinson" sounded.

He gave a hurried wave, scanning the courts for his boy. An inexplicable sense of frustration crept in when he couldn't spot him.

He could ALWAYS find his son—used to infuriate the child whenever the Robinson Family played Hide-and-Seek.

His wife often stated he had a sixth sense when it came to Wil. He'd laugh that it was his duty as a peaceful inventor to prevent anarchy. Especially that which he unleashed himself, at this he and Franny would share a naughty smile.

Or at least they used to until Wil turned ten, and suddenly KNEW things.

"Hello Dr. Robinson" Coach Anders greeted, sports suit rustling as he approached with a clipboard in hand.

"Oh Hello" the inventor returned distractedly, eyes flitting over each bench without success "Wilbur-"

"-Can't make it again, he called a few minutes ago. Sorry he's not feeling so good."

He offered him a packet from the clipboard. "Just a few techniques, I want the team to perfect. Tell him though; he needs to start coming regularly. Or I'll start benching him-Ace or not. Even if he's not up to play, I'd like him to just sit in on at least twenty minutes twice a week."

Cornelius gave a sharp nod before rigidly returning to his hovercar—possible scenarios tumbling over each other in his mind. Once inside, he pulled out his earpiece, keying in his boy's frequency.

Wilbur didn't pick up.

"_You have the reached the voicemail of the Amazing Wilbur A. Robinson."_

His father rolled his eyes. That boy…

"_I'm off doing something awesome. But if you leave me your name, link, and frequency I'll be sure to get-wha? Wait! Carl NO! Don't touch that! It's-"_ Beep.

That message HAD to change. He massaged the bridge of his nose. Hearing panic in his son's voice did awful things to his already worked up nerves.

Still, he supposed rather reluctantly, it was better than his last one: which had simply been a loop of squawking chickens.

He dialed in his wife's frequency. It was possible that Wil could've been feeling poorly and decided to head home instead of practice. Though, he was supposed to call him if there were changes.

"Hello Honey," chirped Franny's cheerful voice in his ear.

"Did Wilbur call you?"

"Mmhmm. Practice will be going on later then he expected. Maybe you could swing by and pick him up on your way home? I don't want him walking in the dark."

"When did he call?"

"Um, three or four minutes ago I think? Why? Is everything okay?"

So this WAS planned; Time to use the GPS function on his son's earpiece.

His eyebrow rose as it indicated Robinson Industries.

"Right. No reason, Sweetheart. I'll get him."

* * *

A crowd of passersby openly gaped as a blue hovercar spun into a parallel space at top speed, thrusters screeching in protest at the abusive motion.

Cornelius ignored the rubberneckers, wrenching his key from the ignition, and stalking into Robinson Industries.

It was likely just mischief, Wilbur had a penchant for chaos. That was nothing new.

Still, his pace hurried significantly, if anything had happened…

Unlikely though it was, his imagination kept conjuring up villains forcing his son to break off his engagements with easy lies.

He shook his head roughly. Franny kept making him watch all those True Story shows—each episode brimming with murdered spouses, abducted young women, and children who never came home.

If all he found was the phone…Bile rose in his throat.

"Bonnie!" he demanded the desk clerk at the front desk.

"Y-yes sir?" The woman's head jerked up, frizzy blonde curls bouncing erratically.

"When did Wil leave?"

She stared blankly, "Leave?"

The pit of his stomach fell—urgency, worry, and confusion cementing into full blown panic.

Luckily, Alice (a long time associate) was passing by with a beaker, she grinned at her boss.

"Oh Dr. Robinson, I wondered where you were. Wil's been down in the lab an awful long time. I hope he's not bothering Dr. Haynez. He's not really…" she lowered her voice, running a fretful hand through short mousy locks "…Child-friendly."

Cornelius turned on his heel, leaving both women blinking at his abrupt departure.

* * *

The laboratory levels still used lifts rather than tubes; safer for transporting materials.

But infinitely slower, and every second felt like an eternity.

He rushed down the corridor; scaring the wits out of two poor interns and earning some rather indignant squawks from three chemists handling hazardous materials.

Hardly worth a second-glance, let alone an apology. Every second could be precious, could be life-altering, could be fatal…

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins; his lungs were burning, anxiety twisting his guts, he felt like he'd just explode from the intensity of it all—

When he heard it: the unmistakable tenor of his son's voice drifting from down the hall:

"Then Dr. Dreaddix activates the Death Ray and Captain Time Travel has to reverse the polarity of the weapon, which of course saves the day."

Cornelius hurries over, pressing himself against the Plexiglas window—relief leaving him weak-kneed.

There was his boy whole and unharmed, sitting with his legs criss-crossed on top of a lab table.

Tossing a Chargeball glove carelessly between his hands, as he blah-blah-blahed away—much to the annoyance of the room's other occupant.

Cornelius quietly entered the room.

"-And I know it's all techno babble because a simple flip of a lever wouldn't do that. Very, very rare anyways-"

"Will?" Dr. Haynez gritted out, exasperation evident.

"-In all likelihood, you'd have to reverse the polarity of the power source of the device (assuming it's not AC)-"

"Will!" the scientist called sharply.

"-And even then it might fry the invention but it wouldn't blow up the ENTIRE ship and the nearby Villainous Space Station. We're talking nuking Dude. This was even MORE unlikely, cuz the machine they showed totally wasn't nuke tech compatible. So the last ten minutes were complete junk-"

"Please spare me the intricacies of your melodramatic kiddie show"

The blatant animosity ruffled Cornelius' feathers. It was well-known in Science Society; you were not mean to Dr. Robinson's family.

"Why? Got stuck again?" Wilbur asked (with what his dad felt was much more kindness then the man deserved.)

Haynez' lips flapped wordlessly like a fish out of water.

"It's okay. I had Dad explain this to me like eighty times, no joke. Ask Carl. It's tricky."

Wilbur stared intently at white board, eyes narrowing. "Thaaat's what it is. You're missing a negative near the bottom left-hand side."

Haynez stiffly righted his error.

"There you go. Oh…and that six should be a four…Perfect. You got it. Oh…and that decimal should actually-"

The young Robinson jumped off the counter easily and walked up to the board "be right here" placing his index finger in between two numbers.

"Thank you for your…aid in my calculations" venom dripped from every syllable.

"No prob, you're really getting the hang of it" Wilbur smiled good-naturedly.

The man looked like he wanted to strangle him for the compliment. He swiftly ran his twitching fingers through his thinning gray hair; a futile attempt for calm—and though his breathing eased, something raw and angry blazed in his hazel eyes.

A surge of paternal protectiveness writhed in Cornelius demanding retribution. Nobody looked, let alone spoke to his child so hatefully.

He opened his mouth to voice his anger, when his eyes scanned the board—Fury momentarily forgotten.

Complex algorithms…sure he HAD tried explaining them to Wilbur countless times, but he never knew the boy was actually listening, let alone TRYING to understand them. Or succeeding, Cornelius' chest swelled with pride.

He also noted somewhat melancholically, that he'd missed his son's triumphant AHA moment. The realization stung on an intimate level.

"Okay," Wilbur announced, authority ringing in his young voice. He tapped a screwdriver against the metallic hatch of a small prototype the size of a toaster. "Let's open this bad boy up and-"

"Wait! You know the rule. If you're going to help me-"

"-But they totally clash with my cool!" he whined.

"You're not coming near my invention without them" Haynez hissed.

"But they're so, sooo, so—I can't-"

Dr. Haynez grabbed his son's light blue backpack, openly scoffing at the lightning bolt insignia decorating it.

With more familiarity than Cornelius cared for, Haynez rummaged though it, extracting a small oval case.

"I don't understand why you make such a fuss; it's a very common affliction-"

"-Well excuse me if I haven't succumbed to my AFFLICTION yet. I plan to fight off my destiny for Dorkdom as long as possible."

Haynez clicked opened the case with ease, shooting an exasperated look at the young teen.

"Pfft. Not my fault my DNA donors passed on some faulty codes" Wilbur grumbled.

After setting the pair of glasses on his son's face with more force than necessary, Haynez stalked back to a board of blueprints.

Meanwhile at the back of the lab, a puzzle piece of the mysterious universe suddenly fell into place. And with such a loud click, with such nakedness, with such an earth-shattering DUH! That brilliant world-class inventor Cornelius Robinson was left gaping.

He could've slapped himself for his ignorance. His boy needed glasses. Of course! How did he not guess that? The avoidance of books, odd answers for tests, botching grocery lists, incorrect cooking ingredients. Or that awful taping job he did for that memory scanner schematic. What kind of genius was he?

All the times he'd tried helping with homework, referring to the worksheet in question. Pointing at a problem and receiving a blank stare from his child. He'd tap the problem again and the same response. Finally, he'd underline the equation …the equation that his son couldn't read.

But he could play charge ball and watch television with a nary a glitch. He could read billboard signs, point out constellations, and navigate his surroundings gracefully enough…Gracefully enough, that those other tendencies fell beneath the radar.

It all made sense: the boy was far-sighted.

He frowned suddenly. The boy was far-sighted…and knew it…and didn't tell anyone…didn't tell him.

* * *

"You know? I was thinking we oughta tweak it a bit. The wiring on the left side is kinda…messy, you know? Not to mention that while we straighten it, we can use the DVM and note any fluctuations."

Again Cornelius felt ecstatic, watching his son with a screwdriver in hand speaking science…with someone…that wasn't…him.

It hurt. Here this was exactly what he'd been hoping for two hours ago.

They should've been on Level 8, his personal laboratory floor. He should've been answering wiring questions, gently correcting his son's grip on the tools, lavishing him with praise for a job well done.

He watched Wilbur spin a wrench, with an air of practice. He blinked. When did Wil learn that?

"OH! And you know what reeeeeallly gets me?"

"I don't care Will."

"Well I'll tell you! Those conveniently imbecilic moments, where the villain's weapon is defeated by a chess principle, the hero learned at the start of the episode. Like an invention that high-caliber designed by an evil genius, would be so easy to disengage."

Wilbur snorted loudly as he took up some wire-dikes. Continuing his rant as he stripped the wires, "I mean, Captain Time Travel's friggin' awesome, but he didn't even have to hack any firewalls or short-circuit any camera-bots or anything!"

He tossed the wire-cutters down with a thunk, and plugged the soldering gun in.

Wilbur took a couple reels of soldering wire down and began juggling them, "I mean, I know I'm overanalyzing it's just…it's kinda hard to watch those with Dad. Cuz I mean, he'll know all that stuff and more. He'll either be bored stiff, or rolling on the floor at the impossibility of it all."

He set the coils down, reaching for the soldering gun.

"But it's the imagination in it, you know?" He began fusing the wires together. "The honor and adventure a-and awesomeness! It's just-It's just…I wonder" the soldering gun drooped.

"Wonder about what? Lighting a fire?!"

The tool was swiftly unplugged and set to cool. Just like the topic of conversation.

Wilbur remained quiet; speaking only to announce that the latest adjustment should yield at least a 3% increase in efficiency.

Dr. Haynez eye's narrowed, muttering that it wasn't good enough—that Wil must've botched it somewhere.

And that was the straw that broke Cornelius' back. That man shot one glare too many.

He made his presence known "Gentlemen."

The effect was immediate.

Wilbur froze, thin frame tensing, as he cautiously peered over his shoulder.

"Uh, uh, uh um"

The blood drained from his son's face.

"Dr. Robinson" Haynez greeted his voice slick with courtesy. His countenance polite: the very image of a well-meaning science man.

The Father of the Future wasn't fooled for an instant.

Wilbur blinked at the unfamiliarly cold expression on the elder Robinson's face.

He gulped. Dad was really mad.

But…it didn't SEEM to be directed at him …Or maybe he'd finally earned disdain as well as disappointment…Yippee. He reluctantly climbed off the table and inched his way toward his father.

"If you could wait a moment in the hall, Dr. Haynez."

Ruffled at being told to leave what he clearly felt was HIS territory; the scientist stiffly complied.

When the door clicked shut, Cornelius nodded expectantly, "Wilbur."

"I-you see-funny story-I-"

"Explanation."

"I-I….." Wilbur sighed. Even the most brilliant lie wouldn't work. This man had known him his entire life…well…technically even longer than that. Ah, the joys of time-travel.

"I kinda…ran into him last month" he admitted quietly "I wasn't paying attention as I sprinted to the elevator and…WHAM…Goodbye Project."

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, I didn't want him getting in trouble because of me. So I volunteered to help. I…I was pretty surprised when he took me up on the offer."

"Mm-hmm."

"So…I kinda got a crash course in it all" he laughed weakly "What's been rough is that…"

"I'm listening" Cornelius hoisted himself onto a lab table, patting the space beside him.

Wilbur shifted his weight from foot to foot, contemplating his next words before taking a seat.

"Every time I thought I was through, he'd say that the output wasn't as good as it was. But I look over the blueprints and I-I just can't see where it'd come from!"

_That's because he's lying_, Cornelius noted angrily. _And he's using you_.

"I see."

"And if that's true, and I messed things up then I've got to fix it and-"

"Son, that's noble of you, but he's an adult. He needs to take responsibility."

Wil frowned, "But it's MY fault, _I'LL_ take responsibi-"

"How much output did you achieve?"

It was a soft, simple question but the weight of the answer was crushing.

Wilbur focused on his shoes, studying the laces intimately. The silence stretched until he finally mumbled something.

"Didn't catch that," Blue eyes watched the boy intently.

"36" Wilbur won't lift his gaze.

Cornelius nodded, "I see. I'll take care of this."

* * *

The inventor calmly closed the door behind him—instantly bombarded with an overly bright smile, "Sir I assure you that, I meant no harm—just showing young Will the finer points of inventing a self-sustaining portable generator-"

"-your output was never greater than 32% the structural integrity is unsound. The torque you're trying to achieve (even if you somehow manage it) can't be done in such a soft casing—it'll warp."

"I-"

"I've read your recent reports. Had one on my desk yesterday morning. Hell, I even congratulated you on your progress. Exchanging the large motor for three smaller ones and installing a better cooling system. You'd been so adamant about not changing your overall method that I was quite impressed, you gained several more percents. After months of flat-lining, I wondered how you got such inspiration."

Cornelius suddenly scrutinized the man, his gaze hard and merciless.

"And that's just it. It wasn't yours, was it?" he gave a mirthless laugh "Not even a footnote about his help."

The older man's smile vanished as he went stock still; time slowing as they stared each other down.

"Awful" Dr. Robinson breathes the word—and despite the softness in which its uttered—something venomous and unforgiving strains through the syllables.

"He's not an employee there was no reason to cite him at all" the man babbled quickly.

The blonde's teeth gnashed, "Used him. Stole his ideas and paraded them as your own. You know what that means. Go."

Haynez stared at him blankly.

"Go!" Dr. Robinson insisted "You know our policy on this. We have a zero tolerance for plagiarism and thievery."

"He's NOT an employee! He doesn't matter! He's just some kid. He's nobody. Worthle-"

The scientist choked on the word, because suddenly Robinson was fuming; Blue eyes blazed with unyielding fury.

Hackles raised…Feral…and it strikes Haynez because he's only ever seen it once before in a grocery store. Some man, not watching his step, wheeled his cart straight into a stroller knocking it over. What ensued…was not pretty. The toddler stopped wailing long before his mother paused for breath. Frame taut with anger, eyes flashing with wrath, berating the man ruthlessly for his carelessness.

Even now he recalled the spectacle from his place in line. Her piercing voice, shrieking about her baby, her precious baby, and what was he thinking, and what sort of idiot was he? How could he? Her baby! Her poor, poor baby!

He remembered feeling a bit of pity for the man. Parents, they were a different breed.

Haynez' breath left him in a rush. Suddenly he's looking from the glass to Dr. Robinson, back and forth and back—dawning horror evident on his face.

"Will…Wil…bur…" he swallowed "Wilbur…Robinson" he murmured faintly.

"_**My**_ Wilbur, yes."

Haynez faced his employer, a doomed expression etched on his face. He'd crossed the Rubicon.

The cold, hard expression facing him was more than enough proof of that.

"I'll have my desk clear by five."

"See that you do."

* * *

Cornelius reentered the room, desperate to ease the fury boiling in his blood.

"I'm grounded aren't I?" came a weary voice.

"I'm very disappointed."

"You're _**always**_ disappointed—you'd think you'd be used to it by now."

Cornelius was momentarily stunned by the bitterness.

"That's not true" he responded levelly. "I'm upset that you'd abuse our trust in you. You lied to your coach, to your mother, and to me."

Wilbur looked away, "You wouldn't understand."

"Then explain it so I can."

"Why bother? You wanna punish me, go ahead."

Cornelius scowled, "I never WANT to punish, you Wil."

The raven-haired teen scoffed, before stiffening; his father had clapped his hands on his shoulders. Wil knew this stance. They now stood in lecturing pose 101.

So he's surprised when he's suddenly pulled into a hug. He's even more taken aback when he hears a note of hurt in his Dad's voice, "Why didn't you tell me you needed glasses?"

"Cuz only Nerds and Geeks wear glasses" Wilbur announced, reluctantly leaning into the embrace.

"That's not nice Wil."

"No, but its true" was the muffled response as Wilbur buried his face deeper into his dad's chest.

"When did you know you needed them?"

Wilbur's response was mumbled incoherently.

"What?"

"The beginning of se…" he trails off.

"Wilbur?"

"Second Grade."

"WHAT?"

"Second Grade" Wilbur repeated. "R's are pretty far back in the alphabet. I'd use the time to listen in on the exams and memorize the sequences for the close-range reading."

"But why?"

"I already told you."

"But Wil, why would you do that to yourself? Sheesh, Son…that had to make school so hard for you."

Wilbur remained sullenly silent.

"There's more to life than being cool, you know."

"Not for me. And I'm not about to botch that" Wilbur growled, trying to pull away.

But Cornelius held him fast, "That's not true."

"Puh-lease" Wil laughed scathingly.

"Wilbur," he scolded sharply "You are a smart kid."

"Don't patronize me" he bit back.

And there was such venom there, that Cornelius was genuinely startled.

Wilbur normally acted so cocky, so self-assured, so confident… seeing hurt and doubt darkening his boy's eyes made his heart contract. How long had he carried these feelings around?

"You clearly know your equations" Cornelius gestured to the board.

"Only cuz you drilled me on this."

"Well, in case you aren't aware, I didn't guide you through that one. You figured it out all by yourself."

"Well whoopdedoo, I remembered something I was told a bazillion times…Did ya know I can even tie my own shoes!"

"Wilbur!"

Cornelius sighed and pulled him closer—petting his hair, the way he used to soothe Wilbur when he was little…before he became too cool.

And it goes to show how upset Wil was, because he wasn't complaining.

"How did Haynez learn you had glasses?"

"He prompted me to get them in the first place. He…well…he had me read off an inventory list. And if that wasn't embarrassing enough, he noticed that my eyes cross a bit when I focus too hard."

There's an aggravated sigh, "So I finally bit the big one and went to the school nurse. She pronounced me blind and set me up with these."

He indicated the round rims adorning his face. "They're not my prescription, but they get the job done. If I'd have ordered them…"

"We'd have been notified."

"Exactly."

"But Wil, I just don't understand what the big deal is-"

"Do you notice how lame I look? Kinda like Harry Potter meets Dracula."

Cornelius managed to nip his laugh in the bud—barely. "Those just don't suit you kiddo. You're going to have to try on some different styles. You know, your mother happens to think glasses are quite chic."

"Ugh. Mom will probably think it's cute."

"She probably will." She'd loved it when toddler Wil would snatch his father's glasses and jam them on his face, declaring he was like Daddy. "Yes, your mother will definitely enjoy it."

"Well that'll be some nice, lovely, Saturday afternoon torture."

"You've got to embrace it Wil. You are my son. I've bequeathed my Nerdom to you. You were genetically predisposed to it from either side. Apparently mine was simply more dominant."

"Blasphemy" was the response, but Wilbur's laughter resounds: clear, high-spirited, and warm as it should be.

Cornelius loosens his embrace slinging an arm around his son's shoulders.

"So what was it you were working on?"

"You already know."

"Indulge me." Wilbur trudges over to the worktable, pulling his father by the arm.

"A portable, regenerating generator—uses mechanical energy. Haynez' brainchild. And this crappy prototype is courtesy of yours truly" he holds the small, metal box with one hand. "And the only reason I can call it that with any confidence at all is because its predecessor was EVEN WORSE. If you can believe it."

Cornelius frowns at the cynicism, taking the prototype and turning it over with gentle hands. His fingers pass over a rather roughly welded seam.

"I know it's crooked" Wil snapped defensively.

"Takes lots of practice" Cornelius assured as he inspected it "All by yourself?"

Wilbur nodded albeit a bit shyly.

It's odd, because he wasn't used to Wilbur being conscientious about anything. And Cornelius found he didn't like it.

"I-I know it's not perfect" the teen murmured dejected.

"Wilbur, you did a great job" he insisted. "Spectacular. One month in and you're turning out prototypes. That's very impressive. More than most of our interns accomplish in a year. It's phenomenal son."

But his child looked doubtful; As though he were waiting for something…something dreadful.

Cornelius blinked, caught off-guard yet again, because he'd placed the look now. He'd seen it on interns between the ending of their thesis presentations and feedback. Vulnerable. But despite whatever nightmares they conjured up about rejection, they were at least guaranteed a cordial dismissal.

And he suddenly has an awful insight of the private hell Wil experienced this past month.

Drowning in barbs, and animosity—convinced of nonexistent short-comings.

Not at all how he would've wanted to welcome Wilbur into science.

He wanted to soothe all those hurts, take back those seeds of doubt, and erase all the turmoil.

And it's so tempting because he could. He has the technology; he could easily travel back—alter things. Wouldn't make him much of a role model though; Do as I say and not as I do.

Big brown eyes watched him wearily, awaiting judgment. Completely at his mercy. And he was Father, so his say weighed heavily.

He rested his hand on his child's head, looked him straight in the eye and told him how proud he was.

When Wilbur asked, "What for?"

Cornelius grinned, "Everything; For taking responsibility, for stepping up and giving inventing a shot, for coming clean about the glasses. But most of all, for being my son. And just being you."

It's clear that Wilbur doesn't quite grasp all that, nor does Cornelius expect him to. It was the sort of universal truth you acquired with parenthood.

But he does accept the affection there and smiles back.

"Well, I have a certain prototype upstairs that could use a soldering gun expert."

"I-I dunno. I'm not…an expert. I mean, I only know bits and pieces—I hardly-"

"Wil," he clapped his hands on the narrow shoulders, and steered them out of the lab, "This is part of learning. We slowly acquire life skills… like pieces of a puzzle, and we have to master each one before we see how they fit together, let alone try to decipher the image. And it's ALWAYS okay to ask for help."

Wilbur shrugged noncommittally.

Cornelius knew then that he'd be spending a good amount of time undoing the damage Haynez had wreaked. But Wil was definitely worth it, and the future suddenly seemed even brighter.

"That was some pretty fancy tool-spinning earlier."

Wilbur couldn't help smiling, "I uh kinda saw you do it."

"I guess your lame old Dad knows a couple of cool things."

"…A couple. It got easier… with these." He fiddled with the round wire frames.

"I bet. You know I'll have to tell your Mom about ALL of this?"

"I know. She's…gonna be pretty mad."

"Mmm-hmm. But I think she'll be more upset than anything."

"Yep. The lying part. Got it."

"Wilbur, we're your parents it's our job to see to it that your needs are met."

An eyebrow rose.

"Son, whenever something's wrong. Big or small. Like you aren't feeling good, or you injured yourself, or you can't reach something, or you scared yourself watching something we told you not to, OR you can't read small print" he paused here looking his son in the eye "It's your job to tell us. We only want what's best for you. Always."

The boy's head bowed, and the glasses slid down his nose.

"I'm sorry…"

Cornelius gently pushed the large lenses back up.

"It's not so bad. Is it?" He tapped Wil's nose affectionately with his index finger, "Taking after your Old Man?"

"I guess, as long as I don't uncover some overpowering need to wear sweater vests."

"Aww, I was going to purchase us some matching ones."

Wilbur laughed, leaning into his father who wrapped an arm around him tightly.

One fried prototype seemed a small price to pay for this slice of heaven. And the fact that it'd provide a perfect father-son project was an added bonus.

At last all was well with the world: a shady employee was found out and dismissed, an appointment with the optometrist would be scheduled for tomorrow, Father and Son had negotiated a cease-fire.

And Franny was right…as usual. Wilbur took to Science. He'd have to ask her if it was womanly intuition or a mother's insight.

Still he wasn't complaining. In fact, smug satisfaction brimmed—his chest swelling with pride.

It might've been his wife's cowlick, the Framagucci skin tone, Captain Time Travel merchandise, and the James Bond persona…

But those glasses, that need to twirl a socket wrench between his fingers, and that crooked side-smile were all from him.

He was his father's son through and through.

* * *

Read and Review Please

^-^

OMG—a fic where Wil isn't a sodding moron. GASP. O.o

Side Notes: I see Cornelius being a Helicopter Parent. I agree with the fandom flock announcing that the initials W.A.R. would suit Wil nicely. The firing of Haynez may seem a bit extreme (a.k.a. no warnings, no investigations, *cough* Bureaucracy) but I'm functioning under a "Neil runs the company and has a Zero Tolerance Policy for theivery--physically, academically, etc." Is that realistic...? Probably not, but it sure made things fun and dramatic, huh? : D

As for where did my inspiration originate?

Did anyone else notice how badly taped that piece of paper was? Snicker, it was awful. Especially, considering how great he was at aiming meatballs.

Laaaaaa! Ta Da! Sparkle, sparkle, a fic was born. Hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Allo! I don't own MTR. Yep, the cat's outta the bag now! For anyone who's shocked and scandalized...Good.

Author's Note:Heh, I've incorporated PS2 Video game elements (I liked the house) :P

Thank you to everyone's who's reviewed and favorite-ed, I'm sooo glad you've enjoyed my ramblings! I hope you continue to be entertained.

Again, I apologize for grammar/spelling mistakes/scientific logic leaps...I make them...all the time...hopefully you'll squint at those unfortunate moments and smile at the rest.

Chapter 2

BLURRED

* * *

Franny paced by the window in their retreat—a brilliant vantage point where she could gaze over most of the yard and the driveway to the garage.

Cornelius had it built almost immediately after the hover trampoline incident; one of the few battles that she'd readily admit defeat.

He'd been dead-set against the toy from the moment it was purchased.

"_**What goes up, must come down Fran, and at 9.8 meters per second, if it moves even a little bit it could mean a bad fall."**_

She'd waved off his concerns with a _**"What's life without a little risk?"**_

Not an hour after being set up, Lazlo and Tallulah were busy having a competition on who could jump higher. No one noticed toddler Wil climb up and join the fun.

Realizing he wasn't going to win, Lazlo had somersaulted to the side—a wicked idea taking root.

Wilbur, already used to jumping with Mommy earlier, figured out how it all worked. If he stood in the right spot his cousin's weight would keep bouncing him higher and higher.

Lazlo watched his sister spring up: Down…Up….Down….Now. Timing it just right, he heaved the trampoline forward—out from under the jumpers—realizing too late that Wil was there.

_Oh boy_, Franny sighed, even years later she was sure Lazlo's ears rung every time he thought about it.

It was one of those rare occasions where Lazlo got a heated lecture from his Uncle Neil as well as his father.

Needless to say, the toy was disassembled and returned the next day, and the sponge lawns were installed not a week after; a major score for Robinson Industries, every house and schoolyard in suburbia was eager for one: All the fun of a trampoline without the injury.

Neil shrugged it off as a lucky shot in the dark, but it was stark brilliance in Franny's book.

He also had this window made so they could keep an eye on the little ones. With it they'd intervened on more than one harebrained scheme since.

Franny twisted her hands restlessly.

The sun was setting, casting shadows over the yard.

The city across the way began sparkling with lights in the oncoming gloom. Like an overture, but whether tonight's piece was a comedy or tragedy remained unknown.

Her nerves had been all a twitter since her husband's call. There'd been something hard in his tone.

She hoped Wil hadn't already worn out his welcome at RI. It'd be nice for him to have another place to hang out.

The house still needed some serious TLC to be put back in order.

She's still not sure WHAT Wil did to the blender, but it exploded last week and she's still finding bits of dried out tapioca smoothie in the crevices of the kitchen.

And to think…They still had another two months of summer break to survive. She shuddered at the prospective dooms still waiting in the wings, maybe she should look for a camp…that way when Wil brought on a mini-apocalypse they wouldn't witness it up-close…and could just pay for the damages.

Thanks to Cornelius' genius and her own musical brilliance, they were quite well off. She's certain that with enough zeros, any facility would be thrilled to entertain their son, regardless of the hazards. Ooooh, it was tempting.

But it'd probably interrupt with his Chargeball schedule. Goodness they were holding a lot of practices lately, and they were taking their toll.

While Wil was washing up for dinner yesterday, she'd noticed her boy's fingers were looking singed.

When she'd asked, he shrugged it off as "a risk of the game."

That maybe so, but she'd have Neil check his glove for loose wires again, just in case.

She smoothed out her dress nervously—eyes catching on her wedding ring.

_Cornelius…_

She hoped everything was alright; nothing Neil said implied anything…but dread had already settled in her stomach.

Linen XR90 was fried—she could feel it in her gut. Which was a shame; her husband had been really excited about that one.

A couple of months ago, the women of the household had been discussing the laundry situation.

Every week the shift would switch to the next family member…Only the boys tended to shirk, leaving it all on the ladies.

No one complained because honestly, the women didn't really want most of them doing the laundry anyway.

Gaston wouldn't read washing labels, finding Grandpa Bud's teeth in your favorite sweater was unsettling, and Art…actually Art was pretty great in that department it was just hard catching him between deliveries—man was a demi-god of ironing; must've come with the territory of preferring spandex.

Meanwhile, Lazlo couldn't keep himself from experimenting with dyes…which led to a rather devastated Wilbur mourning one of his favorite Captain Time Travel shirts turned pink.

Uncle Fritz could clean and dry clothes, but folding wasn't his strong suit and it was hard listening to Petunia berate him for it.

Cornelius was rather proficient, but really…besides sports what couldn't that man accomplish?

Carl also proved quite helpful: accessing databases with the best tips for stain removal, perfectly measuring detergent to the ratio of the load.

Why allow a robot to partake in the chore? Well, don't let Carl fool you…he had a fair share of scarves.

They were all family here: so everyone was expected to help out.

With the exception of the twins for obvious limitations, and Wilbur, who wasn't allowed near the machines since the horrific laundry catastrophe two years prior.

No one's quite sure how Wil managed it, but he'd somehow found the right sequence of buttons to set off a doomsday reaction—ended up flooding two levels of the house. They were swabbing up bubbles for hours. Wil was the only one who enjoyed it—armed with a snorkel and a mop…and maybe Lefty. It wasn't often that Lefty could maneuver so easily through the house.

She should've known that complaining about the tedious affair would result in an invention. Cornelius was a problem-solver and he LOVED inventing for his family; especially things that could eliminate stress or make them smile.

He constantly indulged them in their hobbies; giving a hand in cannon designs for optimum thrust, better railing for trains to shave off time, tweaking pizza ovens for a perfect bronzing of the crust…

Heaven knew he spoiled their son rotten. And whenever she called him on it he'd give a "guilty as charged" grin while discreetly handing their son the gift anyway.

Wilbur's closet burst with countless toys and gadgets.

Boy had his own trophy case (with special inset lighting), chargeball practice simulator (highline virtual reality), state-of-the-art telo-vid screen (lowered from the ceiling), surround-sound room stereo (voice-automated), and an advanced computer system that RI's competitors would die for.

Not too mention that extravagant solar system display Neil rigged up.

For Wil's eleventh birthday his father installed a second floor, making his huge room even bigger.

Whatever Wilbur wanted, doting Daddy would provide.

Not that she was much better; designer clothing, a beautiful wristwatch for special occasions with a matching belt and shoe combo, a leather wallet, solid silver cuff links…

Each year she'd have him fitted for some nice suits to wear to concerts and awards ceremonies.

Every game station and corresponding videogame…every comic book issue was swiftly purchased and added to the collection…opening day tickets…backstage tours…In short, Wilbur wanted for nothing.

Maybe _**that**_ was to blame for his bratty behavior lately.

Now she knew he was a good boy, if a tad self-centered…alright, extremely self-centered and rather narcissistic.

But that wasn't to say, he couldn't be helpful:

He'd work in the garden—mowing lawns, trimming hedges, hosing down the porches.

Other benevolent pastimes included: volunteering as Test Subject for various science projects, playing referee and judge for his cousins, uncle and aunt, taking Buster for walks and sleuthing for dentures.

But lately, a rather callous side kept rearing its ugly head—a snide remark, cold glances, blatant lying…

Most of which was aimed at Neil; not to say, that she hadn't deflected a few barbs herself.

The moment she noticed tension rising between the two most important men in her life, she'd started strategizing. After doing some serious soul-searching and reading an avalanche of self-help books she realized the boys needed one-on-one bonding time.

Something she'd immediately began prodding her husband to take to heart. Pestering him to take Wil to R.I. or a movie or fishing…well maybe not fishing her hubby wasn't really the outdoorsy type…but a movie, they could definitely catch a movie.

Neil was THE most crucial male role-model in Wil's life. Boys emulated their fathers after all. And the more positive time they spent together, the better.

According to the books, as far as father-son relationships went theirs was fairly healthy.

No cursing, no alcohol, no drugs, no abuse: physical, verbal, emotional etc.

No matter what T.L. Middle School said about Wil's short fuse, her boy was no barbarian.

Sure Wil earned plenty of detention slips for "Aggression." But she knew her baby better than that: He'd get backed in a corner and rather than use his words (as she and her husband encouraged—or better yet summon a teacher), he'd settle the matter with his fists. He was always close-lipped as to the reason of each skirmish—boys and their honor codes…

And Cornelius…her husband would sooner eat the Transmogrifier than even think of harming a hair on Wil's head.

At the end of the day, under the petty arguments, they loved each other deeply.

The thought that other families couldn't say the same made her shiver.

Defiance was part of the territory of teenage years—challenges would be made.

But she knew Neil was aching for the closeness he'd had when Wil was younger.

Bouncing him on his knee, taking him to the park, pushing his swing, making a mad catch for him when he lets go of the chains and tries to fly…again, making Wilbur cry because Daddy was angry with him for endangering himself, taking Wil for ice cream because Daddy couldn't stand his tears…

Reading him bedtime stories and giving different voices for each character, making PB & J sandwiches and cutting them carefully into triangles for little fingers, building extravagant pillow forts in the living room (No girls…or robots allowed).

Knowing how he cherished those vice-like hugs around his neck, those sloppy kisses to his cheek, those loud "I love you's" you could hear rooms away.

All those precious little wonders that parents hope will last forever.

In the blink of an eye, Wil was suddenly too big, too mature, too cool to even consider committing such atrocious acts of LAMENESS.

(Though Wil never did grow out of loudly announcing MWAH whenever he kissed her or Grandma Lucille's cheek)

It seemed that Neil couldn't quite accept those days being gone. And who could blame him, she missed them too. Especially given the current contrast. Ugh, her heart was still heavy from yesterday night:

_She'd been staring at her glass for the better part of the evening._

_Wil had been in a particularly obnoxious mood and it seemed he wasn't pulling punches. _

_If it had been anyone else, he'd have been shut down already. But once again, his target was Cornelius._

_Franny supposed she was the "Cool" parent. Wilbur never voiced it, but it was implied. That night Wil directly announced that his father was "THE laaaaaamest, most-rule abiding citizen to walk the earth." So she was the cool one by default._

_Maybe her husband wasn't the gung-ho, swashbuckler type, but there was no reason to phrase it like that. There were plenty of amazing feats he could accomplish that Wil's idolized Captain Time Travel couldn't touch. _

_She rarely intervened, though she was itching to. If she always came to the rescue, she'd be undermining her husband's own authority over Wilbur. Besides, Cornelius usually shrugged it off with a yin-yang phrase or some clever quip about Darwinism favoring the cautious._

_He didn't that night. He just resumed eating. And when Tallulah began the family food fight. He didn't participate. Just continued chewing methodically—eyes boring into his plate._

_When Grandma Lucille's victory was declared—her pasta attack invincible, he quietly left the table—visibly deflating as he went. _

_Franny followed, pausing only to level a matronly scowl, which went totally unnoticed by her son. He had been covered in Alfredo sauce, and was unsuccessfully trying to blink it out of his eyes. It seemed that there'd been some cheese added in it tonight, and it was making his lashes stick together._

_She hoped with the life of her, that Wil didn't know the effect his words had on his father. Because if he did…if this malice was purposely or strategically aimed…_

_She found her husband in their retreat, flipping through one of the family albums. She sighed, knowing instinctively which one: he favored Wilbur Years: ages five through nine. She personally preferred infancy through four; back when he'd been Mommy's helper. _

_Once Wilbur was old enough to appreciate his father's work, it became Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. _

_She felt she'd taken her fall from grace reasonably well. Or perhaps she'd been softened by how earnestly, how patiently Cornelius had waited on the sidelines for their son to notice him. That when Wilbur's universe began revolving around Dad, there'd been no hurt feelings. _

_But a new age had dawned. Neil's reign of influence had ended and now Wil was neither Mommy's Angel or Daddy's Boy. Now he was…well…maybe he was Captain Time Travel's. Not that the fictional hero would appreciate it (though his marketers probably did; Carl insisted that Wilbur should be paid for advertisement—he was a walking billboard for the show). _

_Her husband sighed heavily, tracing a photo. He wasn't facing her, so it was easy to move closer._

_She recognized Wilbur's eighth Halloween. That year he'd demanded a lab coat. Young Wil beamed at the camera—oversized goggles hanging around his neck. He clutched a Robinson Industries clipboard to his little chest. Cornelius had even lent him a glass beaker (one of the few occasions where Wilbur didn't break it.)_

_Even if the Science Phase had just been a passing fancy. She knew how much his approval meant to Neil._

_Cornelius wanted to be that Dad you were eager to share with your class on Presentation Day. That Dad you'd tell every fear, joke, and secret to. That Dad you'd hang out with for fun rather than because you were sneaking into his lab again, and he'd happened to be there._

_On more than one occasion, Neil bemoaned his sudden state of lameness. To which Franny suggested he do as she does. _

_First condition: Limit the calls to twice a day. _

_Call One: make sure he got to school on time. _

_Call Two: make sure he got home. _

_Second condition: Let him walk alone to and from school barring stormy or sweltering days._

_And it was that order that always riled him up. Walking with Carl was no problem, sans Carl…DEFCON 2. _

_Cornelius would frown heavily, brow furrowing deeply and declaring that the city was dangerous for thirteen-year-olds to roam through…even for ones as clever as their own. _

_The way her husband would describe it—you'd think there were muggers lurking around every corner. She decided then, that she wouldn't make him watch any more episodes of True Story. His paranoia had him speculating countless morbid scenarios that had her eyes rolling. _

_Her husband had a very active imagination…it was no wonder where Wil got it from._

_She would sigh, stating that THIS was what drove Wilbur crazy. He was a budding teenager, they had to give him space; Independence. _

_To which her husband argued, __**"Not at the price of his safety."**_

_She groaned, from the way he'd act, you'd think she was encouraging their son to run with scissors or skydive without a parachute or some odd blend of both._

_Acting like Wil was glass, to be kept safe on some shelf would only gain resentment. Franny's own mother had been like that. It wasn't a mistake Franny would make. _

_And so…she was the cool parent. She might've handed out more orders; more punishments, more scolding…but she also gave more freedoms._

_Cornelius liked keeping their son on a short leash—probably for damage-control. But THAT sort of thing always made Wil worse: acting like he was a hazard motivated him to BE one._

_She crept out of the room, determined to find her son and get to the bottom of his newfound attitude. _

_Her search ended with the second floor grand suite bathroom. She could hear the shower going._

_She should wait until he finished. Teens were pretty obsessive about their ME-time; especially where hygiene was concerned._

_An image of her husband's sad blue eyes lingered in her mind's eye—his tall frame wilting over an album of happier times. She was getting an answer from Wilbur._

_She glared at the door, focusing on the lock. She'd always been mortified as a teen, just being addressed while bathing. To be barged in on…_

_She shook her head._

_For God sakes' she was a Mom. Years of diaper-changing, spit-up cleaning, potty-training, bedwetting, bath time, flu bugs, and general mayhem/mess scrubbing earned her this right._

_There was no such thing as privacy where Moms were concerned. _

_Mama Framagucci would be proud—Franny shuddered at the thought as she overrode the doorlock, and marched into the suite. _

_To her astonishment, Wil heard the door open and shut._

"_Leave me alone Carl, I don't wanna talk about it."_

_Franny remained quiet._

"_Sheesh Carl, the silent treatment, huh? Not five anymore my robotic buddy, that ain't gonna work on me."_

_Several beats passed._

"…_Okay…so I kinda saw that going differently. I admit it; my mouth ran on without my brain…again. A real shocker I know……….Well fine Carl, don't disagree! Be that way! Yeah, yep, it's me. I'm the jerk here. Me. And since you clearly feel that way, you won't want me polishing your servos tomorrow. Grab someone __**nicer**__ to do your maintenances."_

_Franny blinked in surprise—for as far as she knew only her husband was well-versed enough in Carl's schematics to update him._

"_Gah! This sauce is hard to get out! What did you put in it Carl? _

_There was a huge, melodramatic sigh, "I'm gonna need the Ultra Glamour De-tangler Shine Smooth Conditioner. It's under the sink. Come on Carl be a pal. It's a hair emergency!"_

_Franny's eyebrows rose, she'd wondered where that bottle had gotten to. _

"_Can we call a truce?" he whined. _

_She slid the cabinet open and selected the bottle—rolling her eyes as she caught sight of his impatient silhouette tapping a foot._

_She set it on the corner of the bath with an audible thunk._

"_Thanks Carl. You're a life-saver."_

_Such a vain little boy. Maybe all the fuss he was making really was just a tug-of-war with his hormones._

_She slipped out, contemplating it all._

_With no real destination in mind, she wound up in Wilbur's room. _

_His study area was a mess as usual, desktop littered with odds and ends._

_She moved closer inspecting the debris. Talk about a fallout zone…_

_Looked like a spool of thread, some nicked wire from the lab, a scattering of tacks and his retainer case tossed haphazardly to the side. A supped up lava lamp his dad had made him when he was six and in need of an "awesome" nightlight. _

_She frowned at a light scattering of crackers and candy wrappers and gagged as she noticed a glass filled half-way with juice that appeared to have a floating growth of mold._

_His waste paper bin was overflowing, she moved towards it, nose wrinkling as she her foot crunched on a paper that hadn't quite made it._

_She picked it up, ready to discard it when she recognized a symbol—eyes widening at what it signified._

_Her husband retired early that night. Three guesses why. Exhausted and heartsick, he was ready for this day to end already. _

_Franny fiddled with the sleeve of her flannel nightgown as she settled down beneath the covers._

_He'd already removed his glasses and set them on his nightstand. She focused on those, preparing herself for what was bound to be a tricky request._

"_I think you two need bonding time," Franny announced bluntly._

"_Fran."_

"_I think it'll do you both worlds of good."_

"_Fraaaan"_

_Clearly dinner's cutting remarks were still tender. _

"_Neeeeil"_

"_Honey, I...I DO want to spend time with him…but I won't survive another Captain Time Travel Convention."_

"_Sissy, you've only been to three. I'll have you know I've been attending them since he was six!"_

"_That one with the weird helmet-"_

"_Leutenant Nitwigz"_

_Cornelius blinked, "…you know their names?"_

"_I'm a mom. And my son is obsessed; which means I've suffered every movie and nearly every episode with a smile on my face. Because I love him and it makes him happy to share it with me."_

_Cornelius shifted guiltily, ears reddening with embarrassment—he normally sprinted for the lab every time he heard the Captain Time Travel theme song._

"_You know I don't like Sci-fi flicks and if I can sit through one as cliché as Captain Time Travel, you can survive a few dorky conventions."_

"_Fair enough" Neil sighed._

"_You need to spend more time with him honey."_

"…_I know."_

"_Maybe you could take him to RI?"_

"_You know I like to give the staff a 48 hour warning before I bring him. Things like to explode when they're in an 18 foot radius of-"_

"_-Honey" she scolded._

_He sighed as she cuddled close to him._

_He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her hair, "He doesn't like science stuff Fran. It's-" he heaved a sigh "Laaaaame, remember?" _

_And there's more than a little sadness in his voice, no matter how he tries to quash it. _

"_Neil, please take him. I think he'll surprise you." _

_He pulled back a bit—disbelief lined his countenance, but Fran held his gaze._

"_If it makes you happy" he relinquished at last. _

"_It will."_

_They sealed the deal with a kiss._

* * *

And so her plan was put into motion today.

She'd been tapped awake at 6 am by a frazzled Cornelius, who'd apparently been up since 5 getting ahead on reports.

Having no idea how this was all going to pan out, he wanted to free up as much time as possible.

_Damage-control_, her subconscious whispered rather viciously.

She was always his sounding board, and ever the over-achiever, he was eager in meting out the details.

Cornelius would give him another more in-depth tour, say his hello's to the staff, retire to his office, teach him how to sort and file some low-scale paperwork, take him to lunch (that place he loves with the arcade), return to the lab tinker a bit, and drop him off at his Chargeball practice.

Father and son left promptly at 7.

Oddly enough, despite having the plan sprung on him, Wil had been extremely agreeable–Probably still feeling guilty over last night…as well he should.

With her fingers crossed for good luck, and her heart full of hope, she kissed them both goodbye.

12 hours and one phone-call later, Franny was a wreck.

_The road to hell is paved with good intentions_…kept echoing in her brain.

She watched her husband's hovercar pull up the driveway and into the garage.

She waited with baited breath—an eternity passing between every heartbeat until her husband finally entered the room.

"Hi" he gave a little wave. "Wondered where you were."

She smiled weakly as he approached.

He embraced her—pecking her on the lips.

"Soo Mr. Fix-It…how did it go?" she did her best to hide her nervousness.

"It had its ups and downs" he admitted, releasing her to undo his tie.

She followed him back to their bedroom feeling her nerves tighten again when he closed the door. Something he did when he needed to share less than desirable results from their son.

"…And?"

"You were right" he confessed grinning "He took to Science."

"I knew he would."

Her husband's smile faltered a bit.

He set his tie on the dresser, fingers fiddling with the ends—studiously avoiding her gaze.

"Neil?"

He reluctantly faced her, "Honey, how DID you know? Did he…Did he tell you?"

Hurt showed in his eyes at the possibility. She empathized: Music was her passion, if Wil had learned an instrument without even telling her…

"No" she assured him.

His eyebrows rose, perplexed—a rare expression for her brilliant hubby.

"Then how?"

She offered him a plastic bag filled with balled up wads of paper.

"Fran?"

"I searched his trash" was the pointblank response.

Cornelius blinked, mulling that over. "You know Sweetie, that's a federal off-"

"I didn't intend to" she snapped as she pulled a paper out of her pocket. "This one didn't make it to the waste bin. I found it on the floor…and it wasn't crumpled as tightly as the others—that's the only reason I noticed."

She handed it carefully over.

Wordlessly, Cornelius smoothed the paper out. His eyes scanned the dotted lines, equations, question-marks, and side-notes. Schematics.

Franny smirked when he practically lunged for the plastic bag. He spilled the contents on their bed and carefully began unfolding each one.

Franny joined him and soon they had thirty pages of ideas on crinkled paper.

"These are great!" her husband exclaimed, pouring over each one with unbridled enthusiasm, "Portable Microwave Toaster Combo for people on the go, Hoverplates for the standing meal-eater, Blender Radio?…Oh! I see, it converts what most construe as operating noise into a beat of your choice! Now that's an interesting one!"

"Definitely interesting" Franny agreed. Though she wondered how her son came up with that bizarre gem.

He made a tutting sound in the back of his throat, "I can't believe he'd just toss these aside."

"Well, maybe he didn't think everyone would appreciate the uh, Blender Radio?

"They're great" he defended resolutely. Franny couldn't help but smile.

Cornelius was his son's number one fan. It was vastly entertaining watching him at Chargeball games—her usually mild-mannered husband yelling with the rabid crowd about bad calls. Ah, parenthood at its best.

"It just takes hardwork, dedication-"

"-and confidence" Franny supplied softly—a cruel suspicion shooting painfully through her heart, as she suddenly remembered an exchange between Mother and Son three months ago.

She'd been ecstatic for his B minus on a History exam, urging him to share it with his father.

"_**Oh yeah, I'm sure it'll be a real sight for him. Bet he's never seen one up close." **_

He'd ripped the test from her numb fingers and shoved it back into his satchel. The depth of bitterness there had shocked her into silence, giving him ample time to stalk away to his room.

She ended up rescuing that exam from the trash and pinned it to the fridge.

The family had warmly applauded him at dinner and Wil nearly choked on his steak sandwich.

His father had pulled him into a tight embrace, proudly congratulating him for a job well done.

In the midst of it all, she and Wil locked eyes—a silent pact—neither of them would speak about that moment earlier OR about what he'd done with the test.

Now she found herself itching to tell Neil about it—knowing it needed to be shared, knowing that it would hurt him, knowing that if they could find out what fueled that outburst—peace would reign through the Robinson Household again…barring the occasional explosion.

Neil frowned, tapping his finger on a nearby sheet, "These are solid, good ideas—what's not to be proud of? I think the Blender has merit, don't you?" It's said rather pointedly.

It's clear he wants a "Yes, of course." Wants her to support their son.

"Well, it's-" she swallowed thickly; the knowledge that she must voice something awful tightening her chest. "Brilliant as it is" she quickly added, watching his scowl deepen—because he already senses the 'but' on the coattails of her words.

The full weight of her husband's gaze settles on her and she ploughs on, "Well, Neil, it's not a Memory Scanner."

The silence that ensued was thick and uncomfortable.

The shocked and offended look he shot her stole her breath away.

He rigidly collected the pages, holding the stack carefully away from her. Like her gaze could contaminate the paper dreams.

"Honey, I'm not saying they aren't great ideas. They are. But they're not the sort that society will instantaneously recognize as phenom-"

"PB& J came before the Memory Scanner Francesca"

He rarely used her full first name—testimony to how angry and betrayed he's feeling.

Their fights were few and far between, but when they occurred they were rather explosive.

She'd always gone off like fireworks—quick to anger and quick to apologize.

Cornelius was slow to anger, but once he was hot it took him a while to cool back down.

A branding iron: and the words he spat when mad burned deeply in your heart.

The only reason her own temper wasn't flaring was because she knew…he was shielding their son.

"Darling," she laughed softly, gently laying her hand over his tense one. "Who do you think you're talking to here? I'm the woman with singing frogs. If I had a dime for every time people scolded me about supposedly ludicrous ideas…"

She felt him relax and she cautiously continued, "But Wil's always been rather preoccupied with how others perceive him."

He nodded gravely.

"He may feel…he doesn't quite measure up. It's got to be hard being constantly compared with the Father of the Future."

"He said this?!" Cornelius pulled away incredulous.

"No-"

"-Good because that's ridiculous!"

"Well, he may be a teensy bit intimidated Honey. The skill level between you two-"

"-I've got a few decades on him" he remarked dryly.

The atmosphere crackled tensely, a change in subject was needed. They could revisit this issue later.

"So, did you get to show him XR90?".

"Yep, he fried it."

"Oh Neil, I'm sorry"

"Nah, it's in the past. We're going to fix it together."

"Oh? So he proved himself?"

Her husband chuckled uneasily, "More or less."

Her eyes narrowed, "What happened?"

"Well," Cornelius took a deep breath before blurting out hurriedly "he fried it, I scolded him, and he apologized and left for Chargeball Practice. But I only THOUGHT he went to Chargeball Practice, when I arrived there he was missing. I-well-I freaked out-called him, called you, used his GPS to track him. He was at RI. Apparently, he'd never left. So I jammed back there, found him in the lab levels--"

"Whoa whoa whoa…whooooa!" Franny placed two fingers against her husband's lips interrupting the rushed explanation. "He WHAT? He lied?!"

"Honey there's a Part Two-" he mumbled against her fingertips.

"He lied to you?!" her hand fell away "To Us! He called me and said, but he was actually-"

"Franny-"

"-That sneaky little-wait, in the lab? Oh no, don't tell me he was playing with-"

"-Seems he was helping out Dr. Haynez-"

"Haynez, Haynez." She muttered distractedly, brain searching for a face to put with that name. "Oh! Haynez? That nasty ol' windbag?"

She had a distinct memory of him at R.I.'s New Year's Eve Party, scowling at her and Wil, muttering "trophy family" under his breath.

"What could he possibly help him with?"

"Apparently inventing Sweetheart"

Franny blinked rapidly, "Come again?"

"Soldering, welding, programming, wiring—the works! And it seems Haynez was more than content to just soak up all the credit." A sour expression darkened his face.

"How did you find out?"

"In my…" he sighed deeply before admitting, "In my mad dash about R.I., I stumbled across them working together."

Franny nodded, eyes appraising him carefully—he's reigning himself in, trying not to show how upset he was.

"I…" He swallowed, teeth clenching "I got to watch them interact. He was so-so mean. So blatantly vicious to Wil—when I think of the verbal abuse he suffered almost daily-"

He slammed a fist down on the dresser top. Struggling to convey exactly what he felt: Anger, Fear, Worry, and something deeper…more painful.

Righteous parental anger for his mistreated child proved easiest to deal with—he'd gotten to act, to punish the perpetrator.

The awful anxiety that accompanied a missing child was harder to placate. If anything HAD happened to Wil, he'd never forgive himself. But Wil was safe, that awful "What if" was just another fuzzy nightmare left to fade with time.

Still, Cornelius found himself fretting even more: How oblivious was he? How in the dark was a man who didn't notice his child vanishing intermittently on him?

Even while he kept trying to reassure himself that teens were naturally secretive at this age. That this was "normal" behavior that HE himself had his fair share of teenage adventures that ranked under the Never-To-Be-Mentioned-To-His-Parents-Under-Pain–Of-Torture Category, he couldn't help thinking:

His child would rather spend his time with a scientist who degraded him at every turn; who scorned his talents, mocked his interests, and demanded unrealistic results.

Would voice his ideas to _**him **_and not his father who once spent six hours waiting in line, drenched by unrelenting winter rain for the newest Captain Time Travel videogame. THAT was the ONLY item on the nine-year-old's letter for Santa that year and he'd be darned if Christmas morning passed without seeing that 100 watt smile with all its glorious little gaps (courtesy of the tooth fairy).

Years might have passed, but that smile still meant the world to him, especially since he'd seen precious little of it as of late.

Their earlier interaction with XR90 kept replaying in his mind: Bossily instructing him what to do—scornfully simple orders.

As if Wil could be content pushing buttons, flipping switches, and mopping spills rather than offering scientific input.

Neil took off his glasses, cleaning them rather forcefully.

Did he act like such a know-it-all that Wil didn't feel comfortable venturing the slightest suggestion?

"Why wouldn't he tell us?" Franny murmured watching her husband set his frames back on his thin nose.

He looked at her sadly, "I don't know."

"So you called me after you went to pick him up and he was M.I.A. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I GPS-ed his location WHILE I was talking to you. Didn't want to send you into panic mode unnecessarily."

Truth was she'd been in panic mode since his call.

"It was all" he groaned rubbing the bridge of his nose "too complicated to try and explain in a phone call."

"I knew something was wrong. Your voice-"

"Yeah, missing son equals brink of hysteria. First stages of DEFCON 1"

"So he lied to us both."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Several weeks ago he visited R.I."

"Right, didn't he end up blowing out two wall sockets?"

"Yes, apparently he also totaled Dr. Haynez project. For one reason or another, he got it in his head to personally offer his help"

"And Haynez accepted. Now I understand Wil keeping secrets—he's sneaky, but why didn't Haynez say anything about it?"

"Because he's shrewd and manipulative and immora-"

"Sooo, I take it you dealt with Haynez."

"Yeah" her husband answered shortly—his tone dark and hard. "He's no longer working for us. When he found out whose kid he was bullying, he resigned."

"Convenient."

If the angry countenance on her husband's face, was even a shadow of the undoubtedly P. look he'd worn earlier—that other man didn't have a chance.

"You'll need to explain to Wil that it's not his fault."

"I will."

The last thing he needed was Wil shouldering unnecessary blame.

"What were they making?"

"Portable generator—impractical operating theory on Haynez' part, but brilliant construction by Wilbur."

"So he showed you the invention?"

Franny noticed her husband looking troubled again, "Neil?"

He ran a hand through his stubborn hair.

"Yeah, but he was so…timid. Unsure…like he was afraid of me. Or of what I'd say. It was awful. But I think with proper encouragement, we can booster his confidence."

She nodded, though it was hard to imagine her cocky son ever being shy.

"Okay, okay. So he broke Haynez' invention. Offered his aid. Began skiving Chargeball practices to help in the lab. Lied to both of us about his whereabouts--taking advantage of our trust, using our ignorance to traverse the town, and willfully if unknowingly endangering himself. If anything HAD happened during his little unannounced trips, we'd have been at a loss of how to find him."

"Yes" His stomach still churned at the morbid possibilities. Fame had its pitfalls: securing the safety of his loved ones was always a top priority. He'd meticulously designed their home security system—house was practically a Fort Knox. That didn't stop him from worrying though.

Franny much like a commander, sizing up strategies had gone silent—tapping her fingers against her lips, tapping her foot, nodding grimly, "We're going to need to lay down the rules here firmly."

Cornelius shifted uncomfortably, "True, but I don't want him to associate inventing as a cause for punishment. We need to clarify that we're reprimanding him for the lying."

"Well of course it's for the lying, the inventing part is wonderful."

"Yes…yes it is. And it worries me that he felt the need to omit what was clearly an accident. He needs to know that he can tell us anything. Parental Units don't exist solely for punishment. We're here for guidance, reassurance, and affection. I mean, he needs to feel free to come to us, ask us questions, confide in us."

She stared at him just a second too long, because his eyes narrow in thought before his mouth slackens.

"It's just me? Why me?"

He was smart. He could answer questions. He could soothe fears. He could keep secrets and offer companionable anecdotes.

"It's probably just because you're busy—he doesn't want to interrupt your work-"

"-I'm never too busy for him."

"…Well you can impart that to him while you two work on Linen XR90."

Neil nodded enthusiastically. Yes, yes that invention would provide an excellent bonding tool. Here he thought equal parts encouragement and reassurance would patch up their relationship…the possibility that its very foundation could be cracking rattled him deeply.

Brow furrowed, head bent in concentration, Neil sported his usual 'calculating' expression. The one he wore when dealing with particularly difficult equations; too bad where family was concerned, simple answers seldom existed.

Franny sidled up to her husband, rubbing a soothing hand on his forearm. "You two will talk it through. Just be open with him. Let him know how much you care."

He nodded stiffly, it should be obvious to his son how deeply cared.

Franny laid her head against his shoulder, "He thinks it's manly to keep his problems to himself. Adult-like. He wants to make you proud, you know."

"I'm already proud."

"You need to tell him that."

"I have."

"Good. I think five million more times should do the trick."

"Probably right."

"Always right."

Franny glanced at a family portrait; their 17th Anniversary spent at the Global Music Awards—a black-tie affair—her, Neil and Wil between them.

"So we have another inventor in the family. Well, there go my hopes for him being a musician."

Her husband smiled warmly, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her temple.

"Well the maracas are taken, but maybe he can try the tambourine?"

* * *

Read and Review! ^-^

DunDunDun

Franny has yet to be informed of the SPECS!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Disney owns Meet the Robinsons. I just hop along with the plotbunnies.

AN: THANK YOU PEOPLE WHO REVIEW!!!!

I cannot stress to you how much it means to me when I get feedback. So thank you! ^-^

Warning for this Chapter: A little shorter than the previous two chapters (So I could upload it sooner) and I make up Science Mumbo-Jumbo…I just do…XDDD

Grammar Police, Spelling Nazis, Ner-cough-Science People, again my apologies—I type these out and then upload them; I tend to check for content rather than mechanics. And I know what you readers are thinking:…_Oho…so you're lazy_….

Me:….eeeeeyeah *scuffs shoe along the ground*

Oh! And HAPPY EASTER!!!

Chapter 3

Hazy

**Previously:** "Well the maracas are taken, but maybe he can try the tambourine?"

* * *

"Maybe" Franny chuckled "He plays a pretty mean xylophone, you know?"

"See? Already more musically inclined than I'll ever be."

She smiled; Neil couldn't carry a tune with a bucket.

She leaned into her husband's chest; reveling in the comfort his proximity offered, "Did anything else of life-altering proportion occur in the last twelve hours?"

She already felt emotionally drained just _**hearing**_ about her husband's perils.

He too glanced at the photo of their last anniversary.

"Funny you should mention him taking after me…" he murmured. "See…we sort of need to schedule a trip to the optometrist for tomorrow."

Concern twisted her features, "Is it time for your optic dilation already?"

It always made her feel so helpless for him. Even several hours afterward, he'd be sensitive to sunlight, susceptible to headaches, and prone to an overall grouchiness.

"No…and it's not for me Sweetheart."

She blinked, not understanding. "Grandpa Bud?"

"No Dad's fine. It's Wil, honey."

Her head tilted to the side—an adorable expression of confusion, one he could never resist.

He moved closer, both arms encircling her waist.

"He needs glasses Fran. He had his nurse give him some reading lenses to help him see the circuitry more clearly but-"

"Glasses?! But how come we didn't know before now? Was it sudden? When did he find out—shouldn't the school have called us about--"

"He's far-sighted. He can read the board just fine."

"But at the start of year, they're supposed to screen for-"

"It seems he's been cheating the exam since second grade."

"But-" And then it happened. Her eyes widened, as her mouth made a soft "oh" of surprise, swiftly followed by a flat "OH" of realization.

Then the muttering started, "So thaaat's what happened with the cake. And the grocery list. Why he was always last in egg-hunting on Easter. And…" her eyes widened "And in his Cultures of the World Class: What branch do you feel makes the best Creel? List several different types and where you find them. And he wrote Captain Crunch. Then listed 'Lucky Charms, Frosted Flakes, Cookie Crisp' and 'Grocery Store.' In fact, now that I think about it-"

She glanced at her husband, whose head now rested on her shoulder, his weight sagging against her—shaking.

"This is no laughing matter Neil!"

He tried to agree, but couldn't.

His eyes were watering. By God, it did make sense. He had a sneaking suspicion that if they were to look back at his tests…and squint…every answer…He burst out laughing.

"Neil! I-Oh!" Franny clasped a hand to her mouth. "Oh! When he kept running into the sliding glass door when he was seven, and I had you-"

His head shot up, as he looked his wife in the eye, smile slipping, "Whoa wait, that's why you had me tint it?"

"I just thought he was rambunctious. Overenthusiastic. He never exactly looks before he leaps. I just thought he was a little clumsy."

"Aw honey, I could have told you that was a dead giveaway."

"But he'd get so upset and embarrassed that I'd let it go."

Cornelius frowned, maybe his wife was right. Maybe this was more than just "Coolness." Maybe, Wil really did obsess about what others thought of him.

They'd have to correct that. The only person whose opinion mattered in that category was Wil's.

"Oh Neil," she gripped his lab coat tightly "Our poor, blind baby."

"Whoa whoa whoa, easy Fran. It's not a disease. He just needs a little corrective eyewear…and he's a little self-conscious about it. So we're going to have to approach the matter tactfully."

"Well if he needs them, he needs them." She stated resolutely.

"He's convinced that frames are nerdy."

"What's wrong with a little intellectuality? I always found it _devilishly_ attractive"

Her lips quirked, as her eyes appraised her husband playfully.

He smiled rakishly back, squeezing her tight against himself and eliciting a giggle from her.

She raised a hand, fingers tracing the wire rimmed lenses—trying to imagine her little boy.

She giggled again, "Aww, he's going to look adorable. Like his Daddy."

Cornelius sighed, "I think that's the problem."

* * *

Wilbur stared at his glass of water. The earth spun slower while he awaited punishment.

He glanced at the holo-clock in his room, and with every minute that passed the more on edge he felt.

He was caught between wanting time to stop and wishing it would speed up—so he could get it all over with.

He kept racing through excuses…er…_**reasons**_ for his past actions…but all he got was static from his brain. None of his usual defaults like: '_I was exploring_,' or '_I didn't know that was combustible,_' or '_I wasn't wearing a watch_' would cut it. How was he supposed to schmooze this one over?

And he was more than a little curious why Dr. Haynez didn't reenter the lab. Wilbur had stolen a few glimpses of the pair of scientists. His Dad had been standing at an angle, and while he couldn't see _**his**_ face, he'd had a pretty good view of Dr. Haynez. The man's expression went from smug, to frustrated, to dread.

What could they have possibly been talking about? Was Dad informing him of the stuff he'd blown up in the past? That Haynez was lucky to survive Hurricane Wil with all his limbs intact (which is more than Carl can say).

Probably telling him to run for the hills, and who could blame him? If anyone knew his nuclear fall-out range it was Dad. He and Mom often lamented over casualties of his reckless misadventures—favorite vases, glass awards, new carpets, ruined music sheets numerous inventions...

It made him squirm. He was the disappointment after their long list of accomplishments. No one need voice it—it was so glaringly obvious.

He sighed watching the solar system display. The planets rotated gracefully along their orbit tracks. It usually calmed him down; the thought of space and its vast, cool, infinity—full of countless possibilities.

When he was younger he'd loved the phrase: _**the sky is the limit**_. And once he'd learned that beyond the sky was an atmosphere and beyond that was space—the phrase gained higher meaning: _**To the edge of the universe!**_

But he couldn't focus on those uplifting thoughts. All he could think about was what great engineering went into that display. All the motors clicked about with perfect efficiency. The special fields of magnetism letting them float gracefully.

He tore his gaze away, trying to focus on something else. But everything in his room was influenced by his father or his mother. Any electronic that made it into his room was thoroughly inspected or invented by his father—had to have his stamp of approval. Meanwhile, every shoe, shirt, and belt buckle was bought by his mother.

All his games and media items were from Dad. Whenever he went on business trips, he brought back souvenirs; oftentimes state-of-the-art tech from other corporations trying to make a good impression (Once they'd learned about Wil's love of gadgets, they took great pains to insure little devices that'd awe adolescents were included as parting gifts). It worked too: Cornelius was a great deal more apt to do business with those who kept his family in mind.

He glanced at his trophy case: even those didn't feel entirely his. Special training sessions with his Mother—an amazing martial artist—a Momzilla Ninja! (She wasn't real fond of that title though) helped him win those. Helped him paint these walls, helped him special-order his bed-spread, even helped him tac up his posters. She'd rolled her eyes of course at his CTT merchandise, but smiled "_Boys will be boys…I suppose I should be grateful that you aren't drooling over the STARZ-y Glam Gals."_

To which he responded:

_"Tch…girls…girls are lame. Captain Time Travel and his adventures are waaay more awesome them some chicks in short, shorts. Though their synthesizer is pretty cutting edge."_

His mother kissed his cheek and told him "_Never Change."_

Moms…he'd never understand them…

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

When you got down and thought about it, all he really had was Chargeball.

In the end, that was his only real talent. It was the only thing that was completely his—no one else possessed his mad skills (though Aunt Billie had some potential).

No wonder he clung so tightly to the sport. In those courts, he was a star. Everybody knew his name…not everybody loved him…but everyone respected his ability.

At Global Science Conventions, Award Ceremonies and Concerts he just played tag-a-long. A smiling face sometimes noticed at the edge of paparazzi photos.

Nobody.

Sometimes it felt like he hardly ranked being a Robinson…

Too soon his bedroom door opened—Wilbur cringed; uncertain and apprehensive—definitely not ready for a tête-à-tête with the Father of the Future.

* * *

Cornelius cleared his throat loudly as he entered, best not to catch the boy unaware. He'd made the mistake of sneaking up on Wil last month, karate reflexes resulted in a solid elbow to the gut.

The bruise had long since faded, but the exchange lingered in his mind. For one horrible moment he was an adult foe, and the fear that had swept over Wilbur's face was real.

They'd both agreed not to tell Franny—when his wife demanded an explanation while they changed for bed, the cover-story was a "malfunction at R.I."

"Wilbur?" he called, as he reached the second floor.

The boy frowned: he couldn't bring himself to face his Dad and opted for the ceiling—it couldn't offer scowls of fatherly disapproval.

Cornelius found his son lying on his bed eyes staring resolutely upward. The tight set of his jaw, and rigidly interlaced fingers bespoke his anxiety.

"Son?"

Wilbur sighed wearily, "Verdict?"

"Jury's still out."

He groaned. If it took this long for them to discuss it, it meant a hefty punishment was being planned.

"In the meantime, we're scheduling an appointment with the optometrist. Hopefully mid-morning. So don't stay up too late tonight."

"Kay."

"There's a frame store connected, so right after we'll let you pick one and we can order-"

"Wait now, now?"

"No, it's unlikely that they'll have them in stock. They'll arrive in two weeks, tops-"

"That soon?"

"Wil," Neil frowned. "You'll need to get used to them as soon as possible."

"School doesn't start for another two months!" Wil interjected, "I have to ruin the remainder of my summer?" Images flashed through his mind—each worse than the last. What would they say at the Chargeball courts, at Larry's Comic Super-Shop, at-at-well-anywhere? He'd be a laughing stock!

"Son, I assure you, if anything it'll help you enjoy it more."

"Nuh-uh. How am I supposed to enjoy anything after being fully assimilated into Lamedom?"

"Somehow I manage it everyday" his father deadpanned.

"Yeah…well…you're you. It's different."

"When I was Lewis, I wore glasses. In fact, I got my glasses in kindergarten."

"Look Dad" he interrupted impatiently "It worked for you. That was your style."

The inventor raised an eyebrow, sensing an insult on its way.

"You had that…Chess Champion look. I can't pull that one off."

"Son, there will be countless lens styles to choose from. We will find your match. Relax."

Wilbur risked a glance at his dad. He didn't _look_ angry…not like earlier. Though…that didn't necessarily mean anything. Dad had one heck of a poker face. Unlike him…

Rubbing the back of his neck, eyes glancing everywhere Wil asked the dreaded question, "Is Mom furious?"

"She's pretty upset." Cornelius admitted pointblank—watching his son's head lower. "It hurts when you keep things from us, Son."

"So saying '_Whoops, I'm sorry'_ not gonna cut it this time?"

"It'd be a start" his father remarked dryly.

"Sheesh, I TRY to fix things-"

"-Without parental supervision."

Wilbur glared, "I don't need you guys to hold my hand through everything. If I make a mess of things, _**I'll **_clean it up alright?"

"Watch your tone there Mister" Neil admonished.

Wilbur closed his eyes, silently counting to five, before gritting out "I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Fine. But you, your mother, and I are going to have a looong talk about ALL of today."

Wilbur nodded reluctantly. More often than not those family sessions were interrupted by R.I. meetings or sudden magazine interviews. If he played his cards right, prolonging it as long as possible, they'd forget about the heart-to-heart, assign him a punishment and all would be done and over with.

"I know you had a rough day. I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier-"

"I broke your invention."

The elder Robinson blinked at the simplicity of that answer. As though that made everything alright—a child's logic twisting the situation until it seemed fairer.

Cause yields Effect. A to B.

"No Wil. That was an accident. I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings."

Wilbur shifted uncomfortably, "I-I thought we weren't going to talk about all of this right now?"

More than a little disheartened by having his apology rejected, Cornelius honored the wish, presenting a new direction for conversation.

"Coo coo coo," he set the stack of crumpled papers down on the covers.

Wilbur looked over lazily before his head snapped back for a double-glance.

"What? How?" Wilbur scrambled over—Pointing an accusing finger in father's face, "You searched my trash!? Sheesh Dad, whaddya think I'm up to, huh?"

Cornelius gently swatted the hand away, "Correction: Your Mother searched your trash. And as for me, I don't THINK you're up to something, I'm SURE of it. But I know you, and that whatever it is—as long as it's not illegal and doesn't endanger anyone…or explode anything" he added hastily "—is your business."

"Y-yeah. Yeah, it is" Wilbur agreed, trying to work some conviction into his tone, but failing.

"Well?" the elder Robinson gestured to the pile "Want to explain some to me?"

"…Nope."

"Why not?"

"Well here's a guess, maybe cuz they're dumb?"

"That's not true."

"Kay, they won't work because I'm no good!" he announced bluntly, before muttering "Yay, I feel so much better now."

"You're being too hard on yourself."

"Or maybe you think that because you're crazy!"

"Ho, ho. I am NOT crazy" the inventor countered.

Cornelius floundered for a moment; the Universe sure had a lousy sense of humor.

He took a seat on the bed, staring at a crooked poster emblazoned with TCTF.

"Wil?"

"I dunno how, okay?" Wil sulked, arms crossed. "I-I dunno how to go about any of it. I mean what I've learned from Dr. Haynez isn't enough. I mean…I know this much" he pinched his fingers together. "And in order to achieve any of this I'd have to-"

"-You could try asking me. I'd like to help, if you'll let me."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure," Was the scathing reply.

The mercurial temper raged. Darn those hormones.

Taken aback by the venom, Cornelius sought to soothe the tension with a sincere truth, "Wil I love helping you."

"Eeeyeah, you LOVE repeating something a hundred times."

* * *

Cornelius had gone ahead to talk to Wil about the optometrist. The disciplinary lecture could wait until tomorrow. Hopefully (though doubtfully) Wilbur would use this pause to unload more details to the story. If he could explain WHY he chose this course of action, all this secrecy, they'd all be better off and they could lessen his punishment.

The anger had already dispersed, but she was still reigning in her indignation. If it was one thing Franny abhorred it was lying: it figured that her son was a master of the art.

She entered Wil's room, nerves tightening as she heard their tones escalating.

"You could try asking me. I'd like to help, if you'll let me."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure," Sarcasm dripped, and Franny bristled.

"Wil I love helping you."

"Eeeyeah, you LOVE repeating something a hundred times."

Recognizing that rancor and not liking it one bit, Franny began vaulting the stairs to the top level of her son's room.

"Son" Neil replied "there is _**nothing**_ in this world; I would not do for you. And if it's repeating a mathematic principle a hundred times or a hundred million times, I **WILL** be happy to do it."

Franny froze, feeling her throat close, because she knows Neil means every word.

He would, could, and did move mountains for the sake of their child.

Six years ago, space exploration led to the discovery of the off-world element Quaturium. When melted down and combined with several earth compounds (that escaped her memory—Earth Science was never her fancy) it formed Beltrellyne—a versatile compound with seemingly limitless potential as a new and improved power source.

When R.I. was given an opportunity to experiment, Cornelius leapt for it. Revolutionary compounds made him giddy.

He went to town experimenting with it—eagerly testing its liquid, solid, and gas forms.

Its gaseous form was of particular interest. It burned cleaner than gasoline, was safer than hydrogen, and more reliable than electricity.

In short, strange smells and powders floated around the lab—nothing unusual with that. Nor was her or Wil's presence, they loved watching Daddy work. So when he called them both in for a demonstration, they'd eagerly agreed.

What the first batch of scientists failed to discover was that one in three hundred people was affected by a severe allergy.

0.3 percent might seem like such a tiny fraction, but when your child belongs to it—it's a big deal.

Terrifying. Like the worst form of asthma attack. His little lungs just closed up and he collapsed wheezing. In seconds, he was gasping desperately for air.

Fortunately her brilliant spouse realized the cause of Wilbur's distress. He immediately shut the burners off, removed the child from the room, and set him on the emergency oxygen tank they kept for just such occasions. Meanwhile Carl dialed paramedics, and her brothers tried to keep her quivering form from hyperventilating with horror and fear.

All she can think till this day is Thank Goodness her husband hadn't froze the way she had.

Ever resilient, Wilbur recovered within the week.

She's not sure if Neil ever fully did. So upset…so wracked with guilt…horrified that his passion for his work could ever harm those precious to his heart.

It had been difficult comforting him, let alone convincing him that it was not his fault—that he'd had no way to know Wil would be hurt.

No, the only person whose actions were unforgivable was her own. She'd done nothing. No, she'd done worse than nothing. She'd fallen to her knees and cried. What help was that?

She made a resolution to never be so useless in a time of crisis again.

Though the past was altered, she still remembers the T-Rex attack. Fear of failing in her duties as a woman and mother—had her dashing forward. She needed to protect the children. One was still safe inside. Lewis was the one in danger. She wouldn't allow it! No baby was going to be hurt! Not on her watch!

Though in retrospect, technically she failed. Yes, Lewis was momentarily spared. But Wilbur was nearly eaten. And again, technically, her husband (albeit being a child himself) managed to save their son.

Cornelius was brilliant, caring, and driven. Always had been. And he was especially protective of Wilbur…even before knowing their connection. Ugh, Time-Travel made her brain hurt.

His reaction to the Beltrellyne movement was swift, tactical, and merciless. He made it his personal campaign to remove the chemical from society.

The RI board of directors was furious—wanting to compete with other companies that were already selling merchandise using Beltrellyne.

However, Cornelius downright refused to allow his corporation to mass-produce anything that harmed his child.

Instead, he'd thrown his company into researching a vaccination and while they'd yet to find a cure—they did succeed in designing inhalers and injections to combat attacks.

Using the clout of his company, he brought the dire reality into the media.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until mortality rates accumulated that he finally received full support.

Nowadays, only unpopulated full-on automated industrial sites were allowed to use it.

And she knew Neil was still fighting to have it banned completely. She'd seen some letters involving it on his desk just last week.

A father's love.

* * *

Wilbur fiddled with a crumpled sheet, simultaneously embarrassed and touched—no matter how much he messed up, his dad was always there for him. "Maybe tomorrow after the…exam…we can…I can tell you about these."

"I'd like that very much."

Cornelius reclined next to his son, gauging his reaction from the corner of his eye.

"I bet those reading glasses helped a lot while you were tinkering, once you have lenses with your personal prescription—things will go even smoother."

The boy stared resolutely at the ceiling again.

"Come on Wil, the glasses won't be so bad, look" Cornelius took his spectacles off and twirled them idly in his hand, "Detachable."

Wilbur's eyes slid over, lips quirking "A new feature?"

"Teenagers" his father muttered.

Wilbur reached for the frames. His father relinquished them, watching the boy flip them over, studying them carefully before slipping them on.

Pensively, he murmured, "I don't think it suits me Dad."

His father sensed the underlying message, the uncertainty—a multitude of turbulent emotions, insecurities, and distress.

_I don't know if I can enter your world._

Neil reached over and pulled his son close. _You are an integral part of my world—born to it—belonging in it always. _

"You'll find what works for you."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I believe in you" he replied simply, drawing his child into a tight hug.

They'd work through this, he knew they could. There was more here than a bout of vanity—somewhere along the way a wall had raised between them.

Teenhood just brought it into the open—which was good: recognizing a problem is the first step in resolving it.

Franny kept telling him he was living in the past—untrue—he valued the past, but he didn't want the relationship they'd had—clearly their communication was poor—they could rectify that.

Wilbur was older now—he could express his feelings more adeptly.

He would move forward—THEY would move forward…together.

* * *

Standing on the second floor now, Franny had yet to be detected by the pair. She watched nervously.

Her husband thought if he saturated Wil with enough affection, he could fix it all.

She knew better.

Smothering wouldn't help the situation; she started reaching for her spouse, ready to pull him back a little—give Wil some breathing room. Teenagers had personal space boundaries and they managed them ruthlessly.

She didn't want Neil to be hurt when Wilbur pulled away.

Only he didn't…Wilbur buried himself in his father's embrace—latching onto him. Just the way he used to when he was little—convinced there was a bogeyman in his closet.

(Though one time, Carl really HAD been in the closet—hoping to get Wilbur back for mixing honey in his polishing grease. Poor bot had been covered in bees for ages—had to hose him down twelve times before he was allowed back in the house. Long story short, Father and Son both had quite a fright opening that door on that particular night.)

Franny watched her husband rub comforting circles into Wil's back, talking softly to him.

She blinked…hand falling away. Or maybe SHE didn't know everything.

Maybe Wil clearly sought and appreciated the affection his father offered. Maybe THIS was what he was really after.

And lame ol' Dad knew exactly what his son needed. Needed him as an anchor. An unwavering pillar of support and love.

She waited to announce herself—letting them both relax in the soothing moment. Her husband glanced over lazily, blinking in surprise at her sudden apparition.

She smiled, "How're my boys?"

They both swiftly propped themselves up. Neil's glasses sliding down Wil's nose, clearly too big for him.

"Sooo cute" Franny giggled.

"Mooom" he growled, snatching the spectacles off and practically throwing them at his Dad.

She strolled over, "So I hear someone needs some glasses" she caressed her son's face.

"Yep," He replied shortly.

"It'll really help while you're tinkering."

His lips pursed into a line; Dad told Mom everything…EVERYTHING…and knowing that man's attention to detail, he wouldn't be surprised if he relayed the dialogue word for word.

"Tomorrow." She announced, reading the look on his expressive face with ease "Tonight I'm just glad your Father found you and you're alright."

Wilbur raised an eyebrow—why wouldn't he be? He was thirteen! Practically an adult almost. What did he have to fear? What situation COULDN'T he handle?

Spotting the glass of water, Franny took a sip to wet her throat. She studied the glass a moment, collecting her thoughts, before setting it back down on the nightstand, "Sweetie, I don't see why you waited so long to tell us?"

"Didn't seem like a big deal, I guess."

"Bumping into the sliding glass door wasn't reason enough?" his Dad asked incredulous.

Wilbur flushed, "You told!?"

"I can't believe we didn't figure it out before now" Franny admitted "All the signs were there."

Wilbur flopped backwards on his bed, reaching for a pillow and shoving it over his face. He released an aggravated, strangled sound of frustration—that was only partially muffled.

Franny snatched the pillow away leveling his scowl with one of her own.

She sat down on the other side of him—the fact that he was now sandwiched between parental units was not lost on him.

"Baby, why are you so dead-set against them? Daddy wears them."

"Da-d. Daaaad wears them" he corrected, enunciating the consonants sharply.

"Did someone at school say something?" Franny inquired pointedly.

"……..No…"

"Hmm?" Franny pressed.

"…No"

"Wil?"

"…Maybe"

"Wilbur" she ordered.

"…Fiiiine…Yes, yes they did…and I agree 100 percent. Glasses are for NERDS. N-E-R-D-S!!!! Nerds! I am most clearly NOT a nerd, therefore I should not have to wear glasses."

"What sort of reasoning is that!?" Franny exclaimed.

"Mine! Yet more proof of the former argument. I clearly do not belong in the Nerd Category. And am unwilling to confuse my peers by blurring the line."

"There's nothing wrong with being a nerd." Cornelius frowned.

"No. There's not. But I'm not a nerd. And so glasses will simply have the adverse side-effect of making me laaaaame. I'll be back to Geek status. I REFUSE to go back to Geekdom. I worked very hard to secure a place in Dorkdom and am content with my current ranking. Thank you very much!"

Franny and Cornelius shared a look—both not quite sure what to make of that rant. They're not sure if slang terms have changed in the last decade… but that speech sounded pretty self-deprecating.

Franny opted for a new approach: "Baby, a boy as handsome as you can pull off anything."

"You say that, but you know it isn't true. Coke bottles will kill my coolness."

"Kiddo, you're far-sighted, not blind—the lenses won't be that thick" Neil reasoned flatly.

"But they'll still be there! On my face! Right there! For anyone to see!"

"Then you can opt for contacts" Neil suggested tightly, growing frustrated. For the life of him, he couldn't see the problem!

"Oh so I'll get to poke my eyes everyday of the rest of my life. Great. I'll have perpetual bloodshot eyes. Everyone'll think I'm into…stuff. Totally spoiling my dashing good looks!"

"Looks aren't everything!" Cornelius snapped.

"Dress for success! Clothes make the man! Presentation is a sign of-"

"Vanity?"

Wilbur frowned "Confidence."

"You don't seem too confident. You're fretful and scare-"

"-I'm merely concerned. Someone my age has to keep up with today's latest trends and frames are NOT the cutting edge-"

"I mean I've made it this far-"

"Wilbur, sweetie, it's not a bad thing-" Franny tried intervening.

"Oh yes it is. It's, it's, it's…not fair…"

His parents sighed.

"Don't sigh at me! I know how the Punnett Square works!" he glared at his father "I know it's _**your**_ fault!"

"Wilbur!" his mother squawked.

"Yep. It's MY fault, Wil. Blame it on me. I gave you bad eye genes, asthma, weak ankles--if it's less than desirable, it's from me."

His son fiddled with his bedcovers, instantly cowed.

Neil sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. _Well that came out nice and bitter. Pull yourself together man, you're the adult here. _

Before Cornelius could amend that callous remark, his son spoke.

"…I don't want anyone to make fun of me for it…" Wil murmured. "Ya know…Four-eyes…Nerd-a-tron…Spectro…Bug-eyes…Specs…"

Neil blinked. So thaaat's what this was about. Peers...social pecking order…kids were vicious—understandably, Wil feared having a chink in his armor.

"Wilbur, bullies…bullies are insecure individuals who think that by picking on others; they can make themselves feel better. More dominant. They're wrong. Being the winner of a fight or a taunt-exchange is not the same as being in control. Bullies pick on people who they feel will react. They're aiming to hurt feelings. The best way to deflect that is by being proud of yourself—confident in your abilities—you know what an extraordinary young man you are" he smiled warmly, resting a hand on his son's head.

Wilbur stared at him bleakly. Neil chalked it off for nervousness…he could understand that, he'd had plenty of socially awkward moments growing up. Normally his fashion-sense or lack thereof made him a target even amongst fellow brainiacs.

"Take it from someone who's dealt with their fair share" he slung an arm around Wil's narrow shoulders "You _**might**_ take a couple of taunts at the start," he highly doubted an attractive boy like Wil would be teased over something so trivial—frames would really just make him look intellectual if anything "but they'll get over it soon enough. So don't you worry about them; you just need to worry about you, okay Champ?"

Wilbur nodded slowly.

"Now, enough moping. Let's focus on the Pros, shall we?"

He pulled out a small notebook from his labcoat pocket.

Wilbur felt his lips twitch slightly, Dad hadn't felt the need to do the ol' Pros vs. Cons thing, since his first day of third grade—where he'd been determined not to go.

"Sooo, we've already established Cons: potential of being a fashion faux pas and source of possible bullying."

"A-and I'll have to like…clean 'em and stuff."

Cornelius nodded "and some maintenance."

"Now what do you notice about those things?" he brandished the notebook at Wil, who stared at him.

"I can't read it."

"Whoops, sorry Son, near-sighted over here."

The quip left his dad so effortlessly, that something in Wilbur lightened considerably.

His dad really couldn't care less about his own optical difficulties. Really…they had enough money; if he wanted surgery he could have it. He CHOSE them…and if he chose them…they couldn't be sooo bad.

"Fashion faux-pas is a great example of alliteration?" Wilbur offered.

"…Yes, but not the point I was trying to make. '_Potential_,' '_possible_.' Maybe's Son. Nothing at all to suggest they'll happen at all. Now let's look at the Pros. Got any in mind? Anything you noticed with the reading lenses you got from the nurse?"

Wilbur fidgeted, tracing the seams in his bedcovers. "Lined paper has lines…they're blue and convenient. Screws and bolts are easier to tighten when you can tell whether it's standard or Phillips. I can read stuff."

"Okay" Cornelius finished jotting them down. "So writing, reading, and inventing."

"Dad" he muttered embarrassedly "Not inventing. I was just-"

"Yes you were" Neil replied in a no-nonsense tone. "Well son, those look like great reasons."

"…I guess."

He glanced at his Dad who looked genuinely pleased at the list.

Wilbur glanced at his shoes. Okay, maybe they WERE good reasons to give glasses a chance.

But if they were expecting him to become some sort of overnight genius, they were sadly mistaken.

So he'd be able to read his textbooks this next year, whoopdeedoo, that didn't guarantee anything!

He didn't want them to get their hopes up, he certainly wasn't.

'_I'm very disappointed'_ echoed in his brain—making his guts twist uncomfortably. He'd just never escape that perpetual outcome, would he?

Franny watched the exchange quietly. Certainly not the bonding experience she had planned for them, but clearly needed nonetheless.

She considered her son's rather pensive expression. He put on an impressive front—but she was his Mom. And there was so much of her husband showing in him right now, that she can't believe her spouse is missing it.

The downward turn of his mouth, eyebrow position, slumped shoulders, keen stare. Struggling between hope and dejection—she'd seen that look on Neil a lot in their early courting years. And after knowing him more than twenty years, she had his every facial expression pegged.

It was no trouble reading their child.

Wilbur cared. He cared A LOT about how others viewed him…He cared even more how his father perceived him.

She needed to tell Neil that. A man of science, soft flowery speech eluded him. His words could come across rather blunt. He'd need to watch it.

Wil may have inherited his father's formidable vocabulary but he also had _**her**_ sensitive heart.

It made for dangerous fall-out potential between them.

All this time, she'd been concerned with Neil ending up hurt, when really Wilbur was the more vulnerable one.

"Mom?"

She faced her son, heart aching at the confliction in his brown eyes. _Baby…you've got to tell him when your feelings are hurt—especially if he's the reason._

Heaven knew Neil had steamrolled her feelings more than once.

But all that was ever needed was a soft announcement of that, and he'd swiftly amend his statement. He thought very linearly and sometimes spoke without considering the chance of misinterpretation.

Family was so precious to her husband, he'd NEVER intentionally wound them.

"Mom, can I have a drink?" he motioned to his glass of water, which she was nearer to now.

She handed him the glass, watching as he downed the rest and moved to set it on his bedside table…or tried to.

Cornelius lunged for the glass, barely catching it with the tips of his fingers.

Wilbur watched wide-eyed, then rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.

His parents locked eyes—knowing exactly why a quarter of their dining ware needed replacing every year.

"I'm making that appointment." Franny announced, abruptly leaving the room.

* * *

Read and Review PLEEEEEAAASE!!!! If only to kick me in the shins! It's okay! I got tough shins, go for it! :D


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own Meet the Robinsons--they're Disney...so...nope...not me...sniffle, sniffle...

AN: Thank you sooooo much for your reviews!!! They really motivate me! I love to hear from you guys and get feedback! I also LOVE that some of you are re-reading chapters! My ultimate goal as a writer is to make each chapter more awesome than the last! So let me know what you think! I want you entertained! : D

* * *

Chapter 4: **Distortion**

"1 or 2?"

"Uh…same?"

"3 or 4?"

"Um 3 is…a-a little brighter?"

"1 or 2?"

"Ummmmmmmm…"

"No wrong answers. Can you read the line for me?"

"…A…E…M…er…maybe um a six? I think.."

"Okay, now I'm going to change the lenses."

"Kay. Wow. That was a B. I really suck, huh?"

"You're doing fine, Wil." His father reassured.

"Your Dad's right. Everyone's eyes are shaped differently, so vision varies from person to person" the optometrist explained calmly, her smooth tone diffusing the tension.

"…Eyeah. Except their eyes are better than mine."

"Well, if 20/20 is your goal, when you're an adult you can choose lasik correction."

"Hmmm….laser in my eye"

"The procedure is quite safe"

"IN….my eye"

Wil heard his father chuckle from his seat in the corner, "Yeah, that's the way I pictured it too."

The optometrist shook her head amused, "5 or 6?"

* * *

Franny tapped an impatient foot on the leg of her swivel chair.

Both parents had wanted to accompany a nervous Wilbur into the office, but there was only one chair.

Before either parent could volunteer, or grab another chair, Wilbur took action.

Pointing a finger at his mother, so close to her nose, her eyes crossed, Wilbur declared, "_**You **_don't understand. You don't get to come in there and laugh at my shame!"

He turned, grabbed his father by the elbow and dragged him in.

Leaving her to wait. She'd already perused the store twelve times, she saw Carl doing the same. Trying to envision Wilbur in one of these lenses…it was…difficult.

She'd already collected several pairs she'd like her son to try on.

But whether or not he'd like them…

Wilbur was awfully sensitive when it came to where he placed in the Lame-O/Awesome Meter.

Was the test supposed to take this long? How bad were his eyes? Was his vision so terrible he needed medical attention? Her fingers twisted fretfully in her lap.

Was this their fault for not noticing sooner? For not getting him the help he needed right away? Was this-

Father and Son reappeared.

Cornelius kept a hand on Wil's shoulder, as he thanked the optometrist for her time—nudging his son to do the same, who acquiesced…though with considerable less enthusiasm.

It was good to see Neil participating in Wil's daily life.

When it came to day-to-day troubles, SHE was the one Wil sought.

However, it was…weird being left out. And as much as she wanted to deny it, she envied her husband a bit.

It must've shown on her face, because Cornelius tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

She frowned at him and he shrugged—smirking. _**He'd**_ been the preferred parent in this situation.

Begrudgingly, she supposed it was fair. She got Wilbur for all sorts of things.

School shopping—her chic fashion sense made her a good judge of clothing.

Gift-shopping—whenever one of his agemates invited him to a birthday party, she was the one he sought out for advice. '_Tch…Girls…they're like a different species Mom, what am I 'sposed to get 'em?' _Sometimes she even had to make the purchase. _'Mom!? I-I'm a guy! I can't walk into Claire's! So much Pink! My…my manliness! It'll never recover!'_

Decorating—helping him adorn his room—not an easy task when Wil was more concerned over comfort than appearance.

Function over fashion—got that from his father…

Though at least in Wil's case, he preferred both when possible.

Don't get her wrong. She loves her husband dearly. But that man had no sense of color coordination or style—would probably wear his labcoat to awards ceremonies if she didn't lay out his outfit an hour before they left.

Wilbur crossed his arms muttering darkly about "astigmatism" and how he'd need to wear corrective eyewear "all the time."

To which his father chuckled and ruffled his hair, assuring that it wasn't sooo bad.

Wilbur then began earnestly asking how it would be. Would these types be heavier than the reading glasses the nurse gave him? Would they pinch his nose? Because Tony said glasses pinched. What keeps them from falling off when he leans over? Why do they say not to fall asleep with them on?

Cornelius clearly enjoyed the attention. He loved being an authority on topics. And with that IQ, his knowledge swept over a vast array of subjects.

The man was a walking Encyclopedia set.

Franny could remember long days past where little Wil would pester his Dad about everything under the sky or beyond it. That boy had a real interest in space.

While Cornelius never tired of answering questions, somewhere along the way Wilbur abruptly stopped asking.

* * *

Square, round, oval, large, narrow…

Wire, plastic, full frames, half-frames, horn-rimmed, retro, traditional…

Goggle style, sport style, transitional lenses, black, brown, silver, red, blue, green…

Nothing…Wilbur had tried on almost every style available in the male section.

Neil heard Franny muttering that it was unfair the female section had three times the selection. Her baby didn't have enough to choose from.

Cornelius remained silent about the fact that most men didn't really care. His son was finicky and Carl's snickering wasn't helping.

Comments like "heh heh, I didn't know you had an interest in scuba diving?" and "going to save the land from radioactive Viking women doctor?" weren't helping.

Even if some of the choices were…amusing…Wilbur was getting upset.

Carl, used to teasing Wil, didn't seem to appreciate that this was a genuine soft spot--clearly too new and tender to prod so soon.

No amount of shushing the bot was working either…

Frustration strained through the cracks. Wil's voice got sharper, his retorts got meaner, his face started flushing with anger.

Cornelius did the only practical thing he could think of; he reached over and unplugged the bot's vocal box.

Carl might be furious with his master for the next few days, but Cornelius was not about to watch World War III erupt in this Wal-Mart.

No…there were far too many objects lying about that Wilbur could take advantage of should it come to blows.

For goodness sake, there was a jell-o dispenser display not twenty spans away!

_Sorry Carl_, he thought, _but I just can't risk it. Our family's already banned from Target._

Luckily the optometrist's assistants stepped in, before anything more could escalate; with the calm suggestion that frames weren't for everyone—opting to show Wil how contacts worked.

* * *

Cornelius closed the front door a bit more forcefully than neccessary.

He looked up to find Franny tapping a foot impatiently.

"Franny-"

"He's getting one."

"Franny, order the contacts for now-"

"-but he didn't like-"

"-Just as a back up."

"Neil, if he's not going to wear them. I don't-"

"-We can take him to another shop to…morrow…" he broke off, a large picture of Wil catching his eye.

His son smiled coolly at the camera, sunglasses glinting.

That was it!

"I have an idea," he hurriedly pulled out a small sketchpad from his pocket.

"Neil?"

"Lemme make a few phonecalls. I know a guy who knows a guy that owes a favor-"

"Hon?" Franny started, but he was already hurrying towards the lab.

He rushed past his son who was rubbing an eye irritated, darn thing kept sliding around.

"Tch. People who say they '_can't feel a bit of plastic in their eye' _are full of-"

"Don't worry Kiddo, Dad's got an idea!" Neil informed him brightly, patting his head as he went by.

Mother and Son glanced at one another before shrugging simultaneously.

Cornelius Robinson…the man was an enigma.

* * *

Wilbur glanced up from his comic book to see his mother's serious face just inches away.

"Whoa!" he fell out of his seat.

"The time has come" his mother panned solemnly.

The dreaded disciplinary conversation…

Wilbur gulped. He knew it had been coming, but when 4 pm rolled by without a snag. He'd kinda hoped they'd wait till tomorrow…or the day after…ya know…never.

Guess not.

And the only shred of comfort was that his parents weren't total tyrants.

Cornelius was very even-tempered—the few things that set him off were blatant disobedience and malicious mischief. And he was definitely guilty of the former.

Meanwhile, Mom was a harpy about lying…shame…that was a talent he really had a knack for…

He stood in the middle of the living room, scuffing a shoe in the carpet—opting for a humble, remorseful young man look.

Hoping that they were buying it…

"Wilbur A. Robinson" the syllables came out hard and clipped.

Nope…not buying it a bit…

"Yes Honorable Judge Mother Franny?"

"Take your seat" she pointed to a chair facing his parents.

His father conjured a remote from his labcoat and pressed a button—there were several strange beeps and clacks that initiated some unique format turning their TV into a Slideshow Screen.

Wil blinked. They'd learned about this in school. Powerfont?froint?point?

Something archaic and lame they used back in the early Zeros.

Slides…tch…

Still the fact they put this together between last night and today WAS impressive.

Mom and Dad worked FAST—pulling out all the stops for this one.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Presentations were their niche back in their nerdy school days.

OFFENSES: lit up the screen in bold lettering.

Bullets appeared as Franny spoke.

"You broke Dr. Haynez project and did not alert either of us nor did you secure our permission to help with said project."

Wilbur nodded. He'd been so shook up—his ears rang every time he thought of that day. And the fact that Dad warned him not five minutes earlier NOT to run made him feel like such a doofus. AND he'd just finished up a grounding from breaking a window the week before.

As for the project bit? Well…and he knows its ridiculous but for some reason…he really feared they'd have snickered…Wilbur Robinson—resident Destruct-o-tron—trying to be science savvy…laughable…

"You've been skipping Chargeball practices to do so—meaning you've been gallivanting across town with neither your father nor my own knowledge or permission."

He blinked. He got the whole deception equates bad thing. But traveling around town…_**That**_ was taboo? Wow…he'd have to be more careful. Mom and Dad never actually specified that one. Well…when he was little in stores, he was always told to stay close to them and tell them whenever he wanted to see something…

But he was THIRTEEN!

Things were different now. He was a man! Kinda. He could think for himself and get out of situations and…stuff…usually.

And the category of Stuff was quite a can of worms.

Sure they fed him that '_you can tell us anything Sweetie'_ line, but that was never true. More like '_Tell us what you did this time, so we can discipline your butt._'

Tch. Yeah. That's always fun.

"Because this is the first time you've done this" she took a deep breath "and considering your somewhat noble though…misled notions, we're willing to be lenient. Though if we catch this becoming a habit, more severe punishments will follow. Understand?"

Really?

They REALLY thought this was the first time he'd snuck out?

They didn't _**actually**_ think he spent all day at home until dinner. Did they?

The house may be ginormous but they couldn't really believe that cubic space was the reason they didn't see him. Did they?

Though…that would explain a lot. Probably thought he still played in the sandbox outside too.

He fought the need to roll his eyes. Or did they think he'd tote Carl EVERYWHERE for the rest of his life?

No way! Sure they were tight and all, but the bot was a total wet blanket!

There was no way Carl wouldn't spill half the stuff he'd done if he knew…

Inexplicably he felt a wild urge to tell them, '_NO this isn't the first time I've snuck out behind your backs—probably won't be the last. Whatcha gonna do about it?'_

Dad's inventing and Mom's practices made slipping out a piece of cake, throw in the antics of the rest of the family, and he could practically turn invisible!

Abra Cadabra! Now you see him! Now you don't!

He clasped his teeth together, digging his fingers in the chairs arms—trying to snuff out these errant thoughts.

Sheesh, if he didn't know better, he'd say he WANTED a hefty punishment.

It was like his brain was trying to tell him something ridiculous like: _Wilbur Robinson…this is the last fragment of your moral conscience, fess up before they find out…cuz they wiiiiiilllll…_

Die ALREADY!!!

"As of 3:53 Pm you are considered as going AWOL, young man. And by 5:50 PM you were officially missing" his mother informed him sternly.

Wil heaved a sigh. Sheesh they were being melodramatic.

"You disappeared. Initiating a-"

"-I was just in the lab" he muttered dully, trying to muffle out the irritating little voice that kept telling him to give himself up.

"You _**disappeared**_. You told your father you were going _**to**_ Chargeball. You told me that you were _**at **_Chargeball and that it was going to go on late."

He looked down, lacing his fingers together—rotating his ankles.

"Your father came to watch you. _**YOU**_ weren't there Mister."

He blinked, sooo thaaat's what happened.

"Your coach was under the impression you've-"

Wilbur frowned. Here he'd thought Coach had finally just called—effectively ratting him out.

Or that Dad happened to pass their lab, whipped out his earpiece and informed his Coach that he wasn't coming.

No…he'd actually been caught. Caught SMACK in the middle of his lie!

Oooh, that didn't bode well.

"-taken into account. I have no choice but to find you guilty in our family court. To curb confusion and/or misinterpretation. I shall list your offenses"

Wilbur nodded dutifully. Shoot, he was really in it deep and there was no wiggle room.

"Omission, Deception, Dishonesty, Irresponsibility-"

He blinked "Wha?" Taking responsibility was the whole reason he got IN this mess.

"and Insensitivity"

But he'd ALREADY apologized to Dr. Haynez! About twice a day whenever they met up!

"Whoa! Hey I already told the Dude I was sorry! Why do you think I volunteered to help him?"

"-Your father-"

"Look, I'm sorry for disobeying and stuff. I get it, I get it, I get it" he waved his hand dismissively.

"-was terrified for you."

He blinked—craning his neck to view his father, who stared back just as intently.

"Eh?"

He'd visited his father in his youth a handful of times already, despite the uncanny resemblance—which reminds him of the cricket cycle—they were very different.

Sometimes it proved difficult reconciling his best friend with his dad.

Lewis…

Who was a little whiny, definitely nerdy, occasionally unsure but with a redeeming sincerity…

Nice…good-hearted…little socially awkward…optimistic…

Not quite a leader—not yet—often letting Wilbur take them on adventures.

Which was really nice, because in his own time Wil always followed _**him**_ around. Dad decided EVERYTHING. Where they ate, what school he went to, when his bedtime was…

What video games he got to play '_No Wil this one's too violent, you'll get nightmares.'_

What snacks he got to eat '_Wil, it's almost midnight and you've already had dessert—you'll rot your teeth out champ.'_

Heck, what words he was allowed to use '_Wilbur!? Where on earth did you learn that Mister!? I don't care if this Tony kid says it all the time. I don't ever want to hear you repeating it, young man!' _

Cornelius…

Reserved, intellectual, confident with a strong sense of determination and ingenuity…

Polite, cordial, generous to charities and funds…

Powerful, influential, nobody tries to bully him around. No one snickers behind his back. Everyone's awed and inspired and grateful to the Father of the Future…

His words were hard, concise, and efficient. He didn't mumble or stutter or get embarrassed.

He viewed the world like a scientist should; analytically—behind stats and glass.

Coldly, precisely, logically…

Wilbur both admired and despised him for it…

Dad was a Perfectionist with one heck of a poker face. He could never guess what the man was thinking and sometimes that made him feel…

No! Warm hugs, video games, and hair ruffling were clearly signs of affection.

And yet…well…

His Dad was…kinda….cold—the word _**apathetic**_ floats in his mind, while he viciously tries to bat it down.

His Dad loved him! He knew that! Deep down…even if Wil _**WAS**_ a pain…99 % of the time.

He just…didn't say it often. And why should he? They were men…manly men…manly men didn't talk about dumb stuff like feelings…that was lame…even if it would make him feel better…

He squirmed in his chair, trying to avert his Dad's hard gaze.

His father's emotional spectrum was fairly narrow—he could be slightly happy, neutral or frowning.

Terrified?

His Dad? Not likely. The man had nerves of steel. Could sit calmly through Horror flicks wrought with gratuitous violence and hapless gore without batting an eye.

Even his dad's younger self didn't get scared by creature features.

Skeptical, never scared.

Why not?

Really…this man diffused chemical and radioactive meltdowns at work on a regular basis.

He didn't GET into sticky situations. He didn't NEED help to fix things.

Lewis and Cornelius were too different now…and their treatment of him was sooo different it left him reeling.

With Lewis, Wilbur was older, Wilbur was in charge…

But here…here…

So Wil sometimes got to ride shot-gun…

Sometimes Dad took him for planned trips throughout history—boring ones where he had to stay right beside Cornelius, not touching anything.

Sometimes they played games or hung out…until Dad had a new idea or Mom needed help or Dad…just got bored with him.

Like a novelty item…you take it down from the shelf, amuse yourself with it for a while, and shove it away when you tire of it.

That was probably what he missed most about Lewis. Talking…just talking…like equals.

Lewis never gave him that long-suffering parent look. Or shared that "He's at it again look" with Mom.

Mom…

Here Mom was always the co-pilot, the navigator, Dad's personal confidant, his partner and…best friend.

Which, of course made sense…they were soul mates and stuff.

But…Wil would certainly like a higher rank than loveable if stupid offspring.

Didn't seem like he was going to earn that any time in this millennia though…

"Twenty-two minutes. You were missing. Gone. 1320 seconds of not knowing where you were, if you were hurt, if someone…stole you away" His dad muttered darkly.

"Heh, who'd want me?" the words left effortlessly. But somehow his joking tone was swallowed in the stiff silence. Wil blinked.

His parents weren't amused. In retrospect, he probably should've kept that sentiment in…but really that sorta stuff only happens in movies…

Franny bit her lip. That wasn't good.

"Wil, honey…"

Wilbur was the child of two world-renown celebrities…bad things could happen.

Was he old enough for that sort of discussion? Ignorance could be educated. Naiveté could be deadly.

Innocent brown eyes searched hers for an answer. What to say? How to say it?

"If anyone hurt you, I'd have to track them down…" Cornelius replied tonelessly, staring fixedly at the wall.

The blunt statement and the fill-in-the-blank cliffhanger had Wilbur swallowing nervously.

No hint of a smile or joking lilt colored it. Wil waited for the punchline, for a pun…because this was Daaad. And Dad wasn't capable of that sort of stuff.

_**Come on**_, Dude was a scientist, not exactly a macho, threatening occupation.

Really, if Wilbur got into real trouble. What could Cornelius do?

PB & J them?

Several beats of awkward silence followed, before Wil tried to laugh it off, "Kaaaay, don't sneak around cuz its worrying and somewhere there might be a psycho in a dark alley—Got it!"

Franny heaved a sigh. That was the best they were going to get from him.

"These were big No-No's Mister. Fortunately for you, your lawyer plea-bargained."

She looked at Wilbur piercingly.

Amazing how that woman didn't need words to convey messages:

_You better thank your father for convincing me, because I want to throw the book at you, ya little delinquent. _

"A letter to each of us apologizing, no telovid, no videogames, no participation in family game night for the next three weeks, floor scrubbing duties ALL levels" Wilbur cringed at that…_that_ meant cleaning Lazlo's area…blech…paint everywhere… "and you'll be helping out at R.I. for the next month."

He nodded. It stung. But he'd more than earned it.

Besides, Robinson Industry punishment was pretty darn light. Normally just had him stocking stuff or transporting shipments onto hover-truck beds—He was actually pretty good with a hover forklift

And he'd wanted to learn how to operate the crane. As far as punishments went, he was getting off pretty easy.

"Heh, for a moment there I thought you guys were gonna lock me in my room till I was twenty-five or something."

"It was tempting" Franny answered wryly.

Wilbur flashed a weak smile.

Franny sighed as she came over, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"We never WANT to punish you, Sweetie. But actions have consequences. And there are some things we just can't allow. Lying and most definitely sneaking out are some of them."

"Wish I could have these 'taboos' all in writing" Wil muttered.

"And let that cunning brain of yours find loopholes, I don't think so" his father replied evenly—resting a hand on his other shoulder.

"I know this isn't fun, but we do it because we love you Sweetheart" his mother replied.

Wilbur nodded glumly while both parents hugged him tightly.

* * *

An hour before dinner found Cornelius and son sprawled on the living room rug—Wil's binder-paper blueprints strewn between them.

Cornelius grinned. Now this was great! This was Father-Son bonding at its best!

His chest swelled with pride as they discussed the projects and set up plans.

Their basement was a wonderland of extra parts, Wil could help himself.

When he got off work, Wil was welcome to visit his lab and share his tools.

He'd teach him some tricks for short-hand note-taking. Had a drawer full of extra hand-held recorders—Documentation of each stage was highly important.

Cornelius glanced down at the hover plate schematics—he had some great magnets at work—he'd bring them home for Wil.

And somewhere in storage, he had some tools that would fit smaller hands.

Heaven knew R.I.'s industrial adult-sized soldering guns took no prisoners.

He glanced at his boy's singed fingers, no doubt burned in trial-and-error.

Haynez….he WOULD just let the boy figure it out…Neil felt himself seethe at the thought. Before feeling even more fear and anger when he realized that Wilbur was probably teaching himself how to weld as well!

…_taking the prototype and turning it over with gentle hands. His fingers passed over a roughly welded seam..._

'_I know it's crooked.'_

In fact, the more he thought about it…the more nervous he got. Haynez wouldn't let Wil use a cold saw…would he?

Yeah…yeah, he'd definitely need to define which tools to use while you're alone and which ones to have Dad nearby.

Tomorrow he'll make a list of that and start setting appropriate tools aside for Wil.

In fact, he should check his hardware magazines; see if there were any sales going on. He'd teach Wil the basics with his personal set and then see about setting him up with his own.

Wil's first set of tools…That'd be a great Christmas present for him! If Cornelius could wait that long…

The Father of the Future beamed at his progeny—reaching over and ruffling his hair.

Wilbur smiled back. The boy had to admit spending time like this was nice…

It was moments like these where he could delude himself that his Dad really believed he could succeed…that he wasn't just indulging him…

* * *

R & R Pleeeeeeaaaaase : DDDDD


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own MTR.

AN: Allo! Thank you sooooo much for your reviews! They really inspire me and get me pumped up for writing more chapters! : D

I hope you all enjoy! ^^

Chapter 5: **WARPED**

* * *

12: 48

Wilbur noted from his wristwatch—an extra pep entering his already cocky swagger.

He was WAAY early—Dad always appreciated punctuality.

R.I.'s doors swooshed open and he entered immediately feeling the A.C. chilled air rush past him. Scientists preferred dark, cool places. Heh, like a giant refrigerator—preserving them…

He'd found through the years, it was easier to just ask the front desks, if he wanted to know exactly where his Dad was.

But…he'd left him a note this morning (after already telling him the night before) that he'd be in _Laboratory Level 8 at 1pm. Be __ON-TIME__ Pleaase!_

This was it. His chance to show he could be obedient…and stuff.

He'd already written his apology letters and was slowly adapting to televid-less life. Losing videogames and gamenight though...that still stung...

However his parents had already eased up on the floor scrubbing. The house was just too big and he accidentally got locked down in the basement twice!

Nope, they'd relented to their family wing and that Wilbur had to keep his room spotless.

Still all that stuff had been easy...coming to R.I...that's what had his nerves in knots.

Wilbur pushed up his glasses nervously. He was even wearing the nurse-given Dork-specs as a show of good faith.

Technically helping out a R.I. was supposed to be part of his punishment…but…he liked visiting his Dad's work. Even if the staff did enjoy ordering him around—as was the usual business whenever he was being disciplined.

Lately they'd been using him to restock supplies and move stuff…said "young knees and backs were best for the job."

Yep, Dad would normally announce to them that Wil was being punished and should ANYONE need ANY assistance, Wilbur was GLAD to help.

Tch, riiiight.

No matter what anyone says about his talent in making messes, he's a cleaning machine.

When he was younger he'd pretend he was Agent Sodium Chloride! Vanquisher of tough stains and messes.

Sometimes he'd just go by the initials S.C. and insist that they also stood for Super Cool!

Eeeeyeah, the older staff members still got a kick addressing him that way…

He has the distinct impression that even when _**HE's**_ forty, Alice will still ask him, "Well, Agent A.C. your mission should you choose to accept, is a chemical spill in subvector.."

But last night Dad specifically stated that Wilbur would be helping _**him**_. Which…made him feel…important. He got to help the head of the company with his invention…even if it was his dad. And even if said dad was humoring him…

He liked spending time with his old man. This was his chance...his first chance in a long time to make a good impression.

Glancing up, he read the placard:

LEVEL 8 LABORATORY

Through the Plexiglas, he instantly recognized his father's broomstick hair.

He wasn't alone. A kid Wilbur's age stood beside him. One he recognized…unfortunately.

Sean—an agemate from his school—Nerdy-brainiac-over-achiever Sean who usually sneered at him whenever Wil didn't pay attention in class and the teacher called him on it.

Already Wilbur found himself scowling at Sean's polo shirt and thick coke bottle glasses.

Even though the door was closed he could hear his Dad sharing a reeeeeeaaaaallly corny science joke:

"_So, Two hydrogen atoms bumped into each other recently._

_One said: "Why do you look so sad?"_

_The other responded: "I lost an electron."_

_Concerned, One asked "Are you sure?"_

_The other replied "I'm positive." _"

Wilbur felt his lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

The other boy burst out laughing.

Worse: it was sincere.

Wil raised a skeptical eyebrow. Laaaaaaaame.

Cornelius and Sean caught each other's eye and chuckled again.

Wilbur gaped; as if noticing for the first time that Sean was blond and hazel eyed and geeky and-and…he felt his stomach churn.

They looked…right. Sean there was clearly the perfect epitome of what he'd never be. What his parents had always hoped for…and then gotten him instead.

Probably why his mom had jumped at the chance to adopt Lewis…

Why was he here again?

He didn't belong. He glanced around. Flashes of clipboards and pocket-protectors and awful clashing ties…

All walking and talking calmly to one another…Precisely. Concisely. Efficiently.

He was never good at that…

Whenever he shared a message it was loud with flailing arms and exaggerations and melodrama.

Several scientists passed him, looking over their rims at him, no doubt commenting on how out of place he was. And they were right.

Jeans and red sneakers and Captain Time Travel t-shirt…He'd fit in better at the skate park than here.

He stole one last glance through the window before shuffling back.

Why was he here?

It couldn't possibly be that he hoped he'd actually succeed in this?

Stupid…stupid ties, stupid pocket-protectors, stupid, stupid, stupid…

So he'd never fit in, so what?

He abruptly turned and walked back the way he came—shoulders back, head high.

Refusing to feel bad…it wasn't his fault…so this wasn't his arena…so what? He had chargeball. _**That's**_ where he belonged.

Honestly, what was he thinking?

They were just too different—always were—always would be. He knew that…He KNEW that with every fiber of his being.

He moved more briskly—practically jogging over to the lifts—trying to ignore the buzzing in his ears.

Because suddenly it felt like he's back in his fourth-grade classroom.

"_What are YOU gonna be when you're grown up Wilbur?"_

And everyone was laughing…

He nearly bowled over a physicist who must've anticipated Hurricane Wil, because he steadied the teen with firm hands.

"Careful there Wil, I've never been much of a linebacker."

"Oh-um, s-sorry"

"No problem. Just don't want you to get hurt."

"R-right, sorry"

Dr. Johnson waved a dismissive hand and smiled fondly at him, "heard about the situation with Haynez, blood from turnips eh? Impressive. You've been the talk of the labtables here."

"O-oh"

"You alright?" the brown-haired man asked in concern. He had three kids and if there's one look he can recognize it's the _hand-in-the-cookie-jar_ one. Wilbur was clearly surprised to be "caught" but why?

His Dad had already dropped the bombshell about Dr. Haynez' resignation and Wilbur's part in that and how they'll likely be seeing more of Wilbur.

Which…was met with mixed feelings…kid had a reputation for discord…but of course everyone made sure to smile and nod at their boss (who was clearly ecstatic about the transition).

Suddenly realizing what direction Wilbur had run from Johnson inquired "You going somewhere? I thought today was-"

Wilbur stared at him, "I-I remembered an important something that-that I have to do…right now, g'bye!"

Dr. Johnson frowned at the fleeing teen, his parent-sense tingling, and resolutely made his way to Level 8.

* * *

Cornelius felt his eyes itching to glance at the clock again; even though Wil still had a good ten minutes to make it here on time.

Sean, the son of Dan in accounting, was interviewing him for an extra-credit essay assigned over the summer.

Dan had asked him earlier if it was alright. Apparently, the gist of the topic was writing an autobiography about someone you respect and deem truly successful.

He did owe Sean's father a favor and so he'd agreed to it.

The boy was calm, courteous, well-organized, and confident. He'd be a nice little friend for Wil—good influence.

From the sound of it, he'd really done his research.

The only thing Cornelius wanted to clear up for him was the definition of successful; high income and recognition wasn't what made a man truly happy.

He was in the middle of asking what first inspired him to BE an inventor when a loud knock on the lab window sounded.

Dr. Johnson waved him over urgently.

* * *

15 minutes…no16…16 minutes late.

Cornelius could FEEL his nerves tightening and gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

There were no messages on his earpiece.

He'd been reflexively checking it every three minutes. To heck with the whole no-earpiece-while-driving law…

He fidgeted as he took in another deep breath, trying to stay rational.

Which was…impossible as usual…where was his kid? He'd driven around the block three times and nothing.

The boy WAS easily distractible with a tendency to flake out on tasks he disliked.

Except…he'd been excited for this. And Robert Johnson had spoken with him—meaning he'd been there at R.I.

Fine. Wilbur had something important to do. That was fine. But why didn't he tell Dad? What would it have hurt to take five minutes, to walk a few more yards, and give Dad some peace of mind?

Not to mention that Dad could drive him to "said thing of importance"…make sure he got there safe.

Maybe he'd understand the whole "independence" urge if Wil was fifteen or sixteen with a newly minted hovercar permit—Cornelius had been pushy at seventeen on the whole "on-his-own" crusade.

But Wilbur was thirteen! Just turned thirteen! Not even a whole month had gone by!

In fact, Wilbur had just settled in from his voice change right before he dragged "Lewis" into that time fiasco.

Surely Wilbur didn't think that qualified as his rite of passage into manhood?

His hovercar's digital clock updated. 17 minutes…

* * *

Wilbur found himself racing down the street—trying to outrun…everything…and failing.

His pocket vibrated and he pulled out his ringing earpiece.

His father's frequency.

He needs to answer but can't find a good enough excuse to offer. It goes to voicemail. It rings again same ID.

If he wanted to, he could disable it. He'd done his homework on the device—knows how to block calls altogether—knows to scramble the GPS. But that could really get him in trouble.

It rings again. His Dad's probably worried—he'd promised to arrive on time and…23 minutes and counting.

He stared down at his shoes, chest heaving while he tried to catch his breath.

He just needed another minute. One more minute. One more minute and he'll think of something cunning. One more minute and he'll know what to do.

Beepbeepbeep BEEEEEEEEP!

Wilbur winced as a terribly familiar blue hover car slowed and rolled its passenger-window down.

He rubbed his neck nervously, "Funny seeing you here. Um, business call?"

His Dad's NOT amused.

Wil swallowed, waiting for brilliance to strike and it just…doesn't—so he has to wing it, "See I um, had to get a library book. Just remembered a-a summer reading assignment, I was s'posed to-"

"Oh?"

It's not the usual "Mmhmm" that signals an immediate strike-out. His confidence boosted, he quickly settled into the lie.

"Yeah, it was reeeeally important, the book's super long and symbolic and stuff, time is of the essence y'know, and I need to start crackin' before-,"

"It was so dire you had to sprint there without telling me anything?"

"I-I wanted to get there before I texted you and-" He glanced at his watch "Oh My? How late it's gotten, guess my track time's starting to suffer. Should really start working on that aga-"

"The Library's the other way."

"Uh um, well! I wondered why nothing seemed familiar! And there we have it, thanks Dad! I-"

"And you don't have a library card—not since that disaster in 3rd Grade where you were banned for triggering the sprinklers. Besides, even if they did lift it, your mom and I would have to sign for it in person. And don't tell me that Mom did that while I was at work, because we talk about EVERYTHING Wil. No Secrets. "

"….."

"Let's try this again. Why, are you here?"

"…."

Cornelius sighed, running a hand through his spiky hair "Get in."

Wilbur started to get in the backseat-

"No, no, up here with me."

Wilbur reluctantly climbed in beside his father, arms wound around his backpack like a life-preserver. Usually loved shotgun, but not on days like this…

Cornelius sighed, he HATED being the "bad guy"—the role of disciplinarian often fell to him as the head of the house. Responsibility…yay…

Wilbur shifted restlessly.

"Seatbelt" his father ordered automatically.

Wil buckled up but his father didn't start the engine.

"Wilbur, you can't keep doing this. We just discussed it. You've in the midst of being punished for it. You cannot disappear on us like this. I go…CRAZY when you go missing."

His son nodded.

"Wilbur I know you're a strong, smart blue-"

"Red"

"Redbelt" he amended, shocked at how time flies because he still vividly remembers whitebelt days "capable of defending yourself if need be."

Wilbur glanced at him and he held his gaze.

"But Wilbur, I don't want there to BE a need."

The teen looked out his window; they were at the edge of Todayland near the Industrial District. A rough area…

His father started the hovercar and pulled away from the curb.

They made the drive in silence—very irregular for the loquacious Wilbur Robinson. A small eternity later Cornelius pulled into R.I.'s parking lot, reversing the vehicle into a nice space with some shade.

But he left the engine on. If they needed to spend all of today driving around to talk this out, so be it.

"Robert said you ran out, why?"

"…I dunno"

"You don't know why you sprinted four blocks?"

"Exercise? Burning gluts?"

His father scoffed, "Like you have any extra to burn off"

The boy said nothing, staring out the window.

"Wil" Cornelius drummed his hands his thumbs on the steering wheel

It's clear they're not going anywhere until an explanation is offered.

Wilbur sighed, "I dunno"

"Wilbur" there's an edge to his father's voice now.

"I don't know! I don't know! I guess I just-when I came-I just-it all seemed so pointle-that I well-rather-just kidding myself I-I-I um, uh, um"

He stuttered into silence.

The hard tone vanished, leaving only deep concern "Son what's wrong"

"I don't wanna help work on it" the teen stated; resolute and hard.

Cornelius mulled that over, "Alright"

Wilbur (already free from his safety belt) jiggled the door handle impatiently, but his father had activated the child lock.

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why not?"

"It's…too complex."

"Riiiight. A portable self-sustaining generator is child's play. Laundry machines—_**those**_ are complicated."

"Betcha 10 to 1" the boy muttered "Whenever there's a Robinson involved things are never simple"

"Son-"

"I can't do it."

"How do you know if you won't try? I promise you, it's simpler than it seems. We'll just go over blueprints today, okay buddy? Let you get a feel for what we're working on. You're great at Volt-Equations—I'm sure you'll-"

"No" Wil heaved another sigh "Look-I just can't okay? I KNOW how this works, I mess around with it, it'll explode, you'll get angry and we'll fight—clockwork."

Cornelius frowned. He knew he could get testy, but he never thought of himself as a perpetually agitated person.

"I've been through this" Wil insisted "only what's worse is the homecourt advantage—you can actually punish me. And I can't argue that we're working on a piece of a junk and that exploding it was an IMPROVEMENT-"

Cornlius blinked. Wilbur was blending them together. Just being put in the same category as Haynes made indignation swell in his chest…and he struggled to swallow it down. That was a natural response…Naturally Wil's going to be a little distrusting of adults for a while…

_Trust Neil; build up his trust in you…_

The boy pointed a finger at his father "You REMEMBER the toaster!"

"Wil. Deliberately sticking a fork in a _**working**_ machine and miswiring a prototype are two VERY different things."

"Po-taay-toh, po-taht-o. Experimentation is experimentation."

"Experimentation versus Sabotage."

"Intentions Dad. It's all about intentions. Thaaat's what defines a "deliberate" act as benevolent, malevolent , or-or the result of honest curiosity."

His son sure had impressive moments of eloquence when he felt inclined.

"Dad?"

"Mmhmm?"

"We're just gonna argue. I don't wanna fight with you"

"Wilbur" he looked his son in the eye "I am NOT Dr. Haynez. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop comparing us."

Wil blanched guiltily, flushing a bit.

"I-I KNOW that" he murmured unconvincingly.

"The way he treated you was unacceptable."

"He wasn't…the nicest guy…but I DID make some pretty stupid mista-"

"No" his father interrupted firmly "he had NO right to yell at you or belittle you. You are an amazing young man with a gift for science. One he was trying to take advantage of. That's NOT okay."

Wilbur nodded, but his gaze kept lowering…

"Son" he rested a hand on his shoulder, "Do you understand?"

Wilbur glanced at him. "How much _**did**_ you hear?"

"Enough to know that I'll never send that man a Christmas card again"

Wilbur's lips twitched in amusement, "You're…really angry with him, huh?"

Cornelius sighed, "I am. Adults are supposed to trustworthy role models for kids. I'm sorry that not all are."

"Mom said you fired him but it's not my fault."

Cornelius winced. Franny…did she have to tell Wilbur so soon?

"He resigned."

"_**Is**_ it my fault?"

"No"

"It _**feels**_ like my fault"

"It's _**not**_ your fault Son"

Wilbur released a shuddering breath; funny how those words can lighten him instantly.

Cornelius took a deep breath, asking a question he desperately needed the answer to:

"Were you running from the project? Or" he swallowed "were you running from me?"

"I'm running from failure."

"What?"

Wilbur doesn't repeat it, or look at him, or anything.

To say Cornelius was shocked was an understatement.

As Lewis he vividly remembered Wilbur's unshakable confidence, his unruffled optimism, his unbridled enthusiasm for all of life—from success to failure and everything in between.

Even if he'd been a bit manipulative in the beginning, Wil had offered constant encouragement and consistently put his fears of failure at ease.

To hear that the 'Amazing Wilbur A. Robinson' was insecure with himself in relation to the Success/Failure Spectrum rattled his father greatly.

He'd always felt they'd brought Wilbur up in an environment that valued both as essential for life lessons. Why, in the grand scheme of things, 'Failure' could quite reasonably be deemed far more important.

Maybe that Sean kid wasn't the only one who needed "Success" to be properly defined.

He'd need to dig his heels in for this one.

"How do you feel that you've failed?"

"…stuff…stuff that…didn't work…how I thought…hoped it would"

"It's hard accepting those sorts of things"

Wilbur nodded affirmatively, "…Very hard…you…try so hard and-and…"

"For what?" His father played along. He could remember many instances in his youth thinking just that.

"No one gets a prize for trying" Wilbur remarked bitterly.

"So winning is very important?"

"Well of course!" Wilbur announced matter-of-fact. "Like my Karate and Chargeball trophies and my track medals."

"And you worked hard for those?"

"Well, yes" Wilbur looked a bit quizzically at his father, who had watched him relentlessly practice for those.

"Did you know that you could earn them?"

Wilbur thought about that for a moment, carefully reflecting on it, "…yes."

"So you aimed to achieve those trophies because you thought they were within your grasp?"

"Yes…er…well…it wasn't easy though, if that's what you mean…"

"No?"

"I mean I had to work really hard, and there were other kids who wanted it just as bad"

"So winning them wouldn't have been half as rewarding if there had been no challenge?"

Wilbur blinked. "Well yeah…they'd just be fiberglass paperweights otherwise…" Challenge was what made it all thrilling.

"Wil, does winning make you happy?"

"W-well yeah…much better than losing…nobody cheers for the loser…everybody only cheers for the dude who triumphs…"

"Wilbur…I am your number one fan. I'm always rooting for you. You are my champion, kiddo. And not just when you win…Not just when you're on the court or in a sparring zone or first at the finish line. Always. Every minute of every day, 365 days a year. I cheer for you _**always.**_"

Cornelius literally watched his son's esteem inflate, his posture straightening as his eyes brightened. Like a sun-starved daisy desperate to photosynthesize. Of course he'll never dare breathe any of that to anyone—his son would _**NEVER **_forgive him for comparing him to a flower. And there'd go all his efforts for father-son bonding.

He ruffled Wil's hair, "Alright, son?"

"That's…a pretty big commitment y'know…I-I think I've got more failures in me than victories—so…so you'll be in it for the long haul."

"124" his father replied "and 125 was well worth the wait."

His son started smiling, "And then there was the time machine."

Cornelius gave a mock groan, "Ugh, all those poor prototypes-"

"-sacrificed to the technology God!" his son crowed.

"They were so young and innocent!"

"Well don't worry Dad, they have six of my portable generators to keep them company and last year's chargeball glove."

Father and son laughed amicably. Cornelius' heart warmed as his son struggled over the arm rest to give him a hug.

So there _**was**_ some sweetness left deep down.

Neil smiled, "Now you don't have to work on Linen XR if you don't to. I know Laundry isn't quite as grand as generators. But if you DO change your mind, my _Most-Awesome-Favorite-Lab-Assistant_ is always welcome."

Wilbur couldn't help laughing; at age seven after hearing his father given an outlandishly long title for an award, he'd constructed one for himself.

As Cornelius finally shifted the gear lever from reverse into park and removed his key, he cast a long-side glance at his boy.

"So '_reversing the polarity resolutions'_ irritate you as well?"

"Yes! Or the '_forgotten super weapon'_? Tch. The writers didn't even think it up until the final episode. Cuz usually I'm like WHOA! Dude! We're waiting until NOW to use this? Where was this three season finales ago?"

Cornelius reentered the building arm slung around his son, chuckling appreciatively at the tirade and throwing his two cents in now and then.

Maybe he _**would**_ start watching some Captain Time-Travel with Wil…

* * *

R & R Pleaaaaaase : D


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Meet the Robinsons...nope-nope-nope

AN: Thank you sooo much for your reviews! Nothing motivates me more! XD

I'm soo glad you've been enjoying it and while I regret that this particular fic is wrapping up (only one more chapter to go!), there _**will **_be more adventures for Wil coming soon! : D

And now onwards!

Chapter 6: _**PERSPECTIVE**_

**_

* * *

_**As they neared the laboratory, Cornelius smiled at his son, "There's someone I'd like you to meet. Goes to your school, his name's Sean-"

"Milten" Wilbur finished shortly, peering through the window from a safe distance.

"Oh? You know him? Was he in some of your classes last year?"

"Eeeeyeah, he-he was but-"

"Well he's here for an extra credit assignment, an interview for a history essay. Maybe you should think about writing one, it'd be a great way to start off your coming school year. Show your new teachers what you're capable of. He also spoke about a science assignment, maybe you two-"

"We uh, don't get along Dad"

"No?" Cornelius felt his spirits lower a bit; he really wanted a nice little friend for Wilbur. Someone who'd show him that schoolwork could be fun and rewarding. Keep him out of destructive pastimes. Help encourage the model student he knew resided in his son deep down…DEEP…deep down.

Wilbur had been such a good boy in kindergarten and first grade; Precocious and motivated and well-behaved…usually…

"You um, remember how I didn't do so hot in fourth grade?"

"It was a difficult year" his father shrugged. "Everyone has trouble now and then."

Some people had issues in elementary, others in middle or high school.

Cornelius remembered his university years being particularly tough—between challenging classes, hormones, stress, Franny, responsibilities, Franny, earning his driver's license, his internships at Inventco, getting each of his inventing permits, and Franny. It's nothing short of a miracle that he earned all his Masters Degrees.

And in Wilbur's case, he'd been flying virtually "blind" through school all this time.

To say Cornelius was feeling more benevolent towards all Wil's mediocre report cards through the years was an understatement.

Imagining his life's tribulations and then meeting them without visual aid! Disaster! Ugh! As if courting Franny hadn't been his toughest challenge to date just think of what a train wreck, it could've been?

With his natural state of clumsiness, already horrible aim, and nervousness combined with his overwhelming stigmatism, he'd have botched their first kiss to oblivion.

Why? Without his frames there's no telling what horrible sort of things could've happened. And that's just his social life! Imagine the dangers of Science!

He blinked suddenly; once again appraising his son in another light.

Far-sighted…

Misreading labels, pushing the wrong buttons, misidentifying solutions, and a devil-may-care attitude…combined with that terrible stigmatism he inherited…

"Dad?"

Cornelius snapped back to attention, "Yes"

"So…eeeeyeah, well um…I sorta sucked and Sean there kinda lamented on that a lot aaaaaaand I…might've um…overreacted."

"Well fourth grade was a good while ago, I'm sure you're both mature enough now to look past-"

"Uhhh, nooo. I um don't think so. See…he was….said some really mean things to me all the time and I…had enough…and I kinda…see…I sorta…"

"Son?"

He took a deep breath and blurted, "I punched him…in the face"

"Wilbur!"

"I'm not saying I'm proud of it! I'm not! I'm just…not sorry either."

"Wilbur we taught you better than that, you-"

"I tried! Dude, I went through the whole checklist and back like five times! I went to the adults. But he was a straight A student and I…wasn't. And he was the teacher's pet and I…wasn't and…nobody believed me and then the whole 'talk it out' or 'walk away' or 'avoid him' things didn't work either. So I settled it."

"Wilbur, you should've come and talked to us"

"I tried! But you guys always assume it's me!"

"Wil-"

"He said I was STUPID and that the only job I'd ever have in science is if I DONATED myself!"

His father went quiet for a moment, "I see. That was an awful thing for him to say. I don't approve of how you handled the matter but I understand that it must have been very upsetting for you."

Wilbur nodded glumly. So much for their father-son bonding points from five minutes ago. He went from starting at zero, going negative, going positive, and now he was back in the negatives again.

Why did he agree to come here again?

"But you know it wasn't true. You are one smart kid. You were NEVER stupid" Cornelius stated firmly.

Wilbur had to be the most cunning, witty, clever person he knew. His son was brilliant, just not academically motivated…no, he preferred utilizing his smarts in breaking into his father's lower level laboratories, purposely placed beneath the Robinson Mansion to BE out of the way—hacking through clearance codes and security measures (a majority of which was specifically placed to ensure Wil and the family's safety).

Somewhere in the back of Neil's mind, a quote from Wilbur's _Super Galaxy Avengers_ played.

The heroes were discussing their arch-nemesis.

"_In the beginning Maltrox was just like us. Only he chose __**not**__ to use his powers for Good."_

Cornelius berated himself for such a thought. His child was NOT a villain. That was ridiculous. Wilbur was one of the kindest, noblest, most good-hearted people this world had to offer.

He just…had a mischievous streak. And it was becoming more and more apparent that it was the result of a lack of stimulation and challenge.

As they say, _idle hands are the Devil's workshop…_

"I…I know I'm not stupid…Now…But back then he was right! I felt stupid and angry and belligerent and well…Well he wasn't shutting UP and I needed him to SHUT UP…so I SHUT him UP." Wil growled, subconsciously cracking his knuckles.

And clearly, if all the detention slips were any indication THAT had become a behavior pattern.

Cornelius pursed his lips. That would be a hard habit to break Wil of; his personal record of stats proved that method to "work."

What Wilbur had yet to learn was that "intimidation" and "respect" weren't the same thing.

Neil took a deep breath and let it go slowly. He'd talk that over with Franny. He'd always been somewhat pacifistic. Physically fighting…and for the sake of "shutting someone up" just…didn't make sense to him. However, Franny was the martial artist maybe she could shed some light on warrior spirit.

In the mean time…

"I'd still like you to go in there. I wanted to share something with both of you."

Wilbur stared. "Don't tell me he's my long lost brother?"

"What? NO."

"Phew. Had me worried for a sec there. Cuz if he was gonna be family, I was gonna disown you and run away to the circus."

Cornelius frowned heavily, "No, I want to share a life lesson that I think you both need to hear."

"...hmmm….learning…yay…"

* * *

"Hello Dr. Robinson, everything's well I trust?" Sean inquired politely as the inventor approached.

"Indeed, thank you Sean" Cornelius replied as he gently steered his son in front of him. "This is my son Wilbur. He goes to your school too."

Wilbur gave a hesitant wave. _Yep, it's me that guy you hate…_

"Hello Wilbur" the other boy smiled and extended his hand.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow but shook the proffered hand anyway. Quite a show he was putting on for his dad.

"Er…Hello Sean."

Wilbur glanced back at his father, hoping to mumble some quick excuse and get the heck out of there. But his Dad was already back at his desk in the corner.

Cornelius made a show of looking for files in his cabinet drawer. A tactic he'd formulated early on in the orphanage when he wanted to eavesdrop without being caught. Looking terribly busy was its own invisible cloaking device.

"Nice glasses." The boy stated amicably, tone polite and friendly.

Wilbur flushed. Shoot! He knew he'd overlooked something! Great, now everyone and their grandma was gonna know how hideously dorky he looked!

Cornelius eyes narrowed at the report in his hand.

It seemed an innocuous enough comment…one anyone would've made. It even COULD'VE been a compliment IF the glasses were in any way flattering…which they WEREN'T.

No. That was a deliberate barb.

So _**that**_ was the sort of bully Sean was.

"I'm here on an extra-credit assignment" Sean informed him snootily "Mr. Demont likes his students to show _effort_ from the get-go. See what you have to do is-"

"You write about your life. And then splice it with your role model's life and achievements. And how their successes have shaped your own perspective toward your future. Interviews are optional." Wilbur stated.

"So you grabbed a sheet after all?"

"I sometimes do that."

"I'd never guess, must've been feeling pretty hopeful hmm? I wouldn't have thought you'd pass that last exam" Sean sneered softly.

"Well you know how I love making designs in those answer bubbles, what can I say? Better to be lucky than good."

"So…did you like scrape a C or something?"

"Well, aren't YOU interested? You come here for MY life story too? Well, it all started June 3rd 2029 at 8:13 am. The Awesomeness that was me was born. See it was necessary for the universe. There's a mighty see-saw of Lame and Awesome and after you were born, I needed to restore the balance."

Sean flushed with anger before regaining his composure, "So you're here for lunch then?"

Cornelius smiled tightly as he reappeared, "Well, we _**are**_ going to be taking a lunch break pretty soon. But Wilbur's assisting me with my latest prototype. He has a real knack for inventing, so I'm showing him the ropes."

Sean blinked, "Oh, reeeally?"

"Mm-hmm, so let's finish up our little interview shall we?"

"Yes, again thank you for your time Dr. Robinson, I really appreciate it. I hate taking time away from your work—what you do is so important in the revolutionizing of our world."

"Wil?"

Wilbur glanced at him uncertainly.

"Do you think you can do me a favor?"

"Sure"

_Let me leave. Let me leave. Let me leave. Get you a cup of coffee? No prob. Alphabetize the files in your personal office on the top floor? No prob. Just hand me some clearance codes. Heck. Run outside and count the windows? You got it!_

"I've been a little busy today, and haven't finished my equations. Would you mind?" He motioned to several glass boards at the far end of the lab.

For a moment Wilbur stared at him, was he TRYING to humiliate him? And in front of someone like Sean no less?

"I think you'll be needing this though" Cornelius pulled a special marker from his pocket and tossed it nonchalantly.

Nothing short of reflexes saved Wilbur right then. On auto-pilot he caught the marker and feeling like he was heading for the gallows, approached the boards.

What on earth was Dad thinking? This was going to be a trainwreck! A disaster! Goodbye Sweet Dignity—sundered by the bitter kiss of complete degradat-Oh! Oh wait a minute! He TOTALLY knew this stuff!

He resisted the urge to spin around and grin at his father. He quickly uncapped the marker and set to work.

* * *

Cornelius tried not to feel too smug as Sean gaped at the calculations pouring out on the board from Wil's swift moving hand.

"Has a real gift for algorithms" Cornelius replied lightly. Darn, it was hard playing the oblivious adult role…

"Oh…um, s-so you first decided that you…wanted to be an inventor?"

"I think it was around pre-school. I found at a young age that I enjoyed fixing things. For a while there they named my desk the toy hospital. I guess I enjoyed being called Dr. As I got older; I really wanted to understand the world around me. The components of television sets and electronics. And then once I started having a working knowledge of those things, I wanted to improve them. Before I knew it, I started imagining all sorts of things I'd love to see."

Sean diligently attended his clipboard.

"Right. And would you say that the Memory Scanner remains your favorite invention?"

"Well it is my very first fully functional invention. That will always make it special. But I don't know if you can call it my absolute favorite. I have lots of favorites. Truth be told, I'm really quite proud of the bubble transportation."

Sean proceeded to inquire about his teenage years, early adulthood, up to the present.

What inspired him to continue his dream? How challenging did he find running the company? Where did he see R.I. heading in the next ten years?

While the boy hunched over his notes, Cornelius caught sight of Wilbur finishing up.

The raven-haired teen boxed the last answer and stood back eyeing his handiwork studiously.

He caught his son's eye and offered one succinct nod.

_It's all correct. Good job!_

Wil grinned and pumped his fist in the air.

Cornelius smiled back and waved him over.

They both made a show of the marker as it passed hands.

Sean's head whipped around to look at the boards quite surprised by the sudden influx of equations and clearly correct answers accompanying them.

"Thank you Wilbur" Cornelius patted his boy's shoulder once before pocketing the marker.

"You're welcome."

Ah, the art of subtlety.

Wilbur (used to flashy concise matches—with clear winners and losers) had much to learn in battling on the nerd-field. It was seldom quick and over with…more of a chess game than a brawl…

Skirmishes were surrendered here and there without overt fuss; intellectuals were in it for the war…

Why not sever ties completely? Why not simply decimate your enemies?

Well, you never know who you'll end up needing as your ally…so better to make rivals than nemeses…

Cornelius knew that for a fact.

Heaven knew he'd swallowed his pride to get SynTech Incorporation to help him develop and promote Beltrellyne treatments.

"So this assignment is about success" Cornelius stated.

"Yes sir" Sean affirmed.

"Now…if I might ask you a question?"

"Of course sir" the boy replied respectfully, face earnest—ready to do all he could to answer "correctly."

"What made you deem me successful?"

Wilbur watched from the sidelines with interest, while Sean blanched slightly "Well your career speaks for itself sir; the revolutionary turn technology has taken under your hand. Many call you the Father of the Future."

"I've become renown, yes."

Wilbur rolled his eyes; understatement of the century.

"Yes, Robinson Industries is a household name. Nations all over the globe buy your merchandise."

"Indeed, I've a generous income."

Again Wilbur fidgeted; they were…well Mom and Dad were wealthy…very wealthy…

"I mean through hard work, talent, dedication, and brilliant intellect you've done what countless others could only dream sir."

Wilbur nodded in grudging approval. That summed up his dad pretty well. He had to admit Sean was good with words and phrasing and stuff.

"And that is your definition then?"

"W-well yes sir. Do you not…consider yourself successful?" Sean looked genuinely bewildered.

"Oh, I deem myself very successful. Blessed actually. See, success is finding a life-path that consists of you doing what you love and sharing that happiness with people you value."

_Uh oh_, Wilbur could sense a philosophical lecture coming. He almooooost felt bad for Sean….Nah, he didn't feel bad at all.

The dark-haired teen's lips quirked: _swallow this Sean—I deal with this on a daily basis!_

"It's not about paychecks, or underlining your name in a textbook, or paper certificates. Or at least it shouldn't be. Else you'll find yourself disappointed very quickly."

"Trophies" Wilbur mumbled almost inaudibly. Shoot, this lecture really _**was**_ aimed at both of them.

"A truly successful man is a man who has found his life's joy. So what I'm saying is that happiness and success are closely correlated but not synonymous. Your career can be 'successful' and you can be miserable. 'Success' in life brings happiness."

Both boys stared at him for a long time, digesting that.

Cornelius found the difference in attitudes fascinating on both a scientific and human level.

Sean's eyes narrowed, widened, and then narrowed again; mind sifting through volumes of data—other histories, quotes, anecdotes, and storylines flashing through his memories.

The inventor doesn't doubt that these serve the boy well on exams and essay prompts. In a textbook world they'd never fail him. But here nothing quite adds up.

Sean Milten has yet to learn the difference between heads and hearts, and that not all the answers lie in the former.

Wilbur's cognitive skills take a different pace. He took up a thoughtful pose—eyes wandering up toward the ceiling, hand on his chin.

A couple of deep cleansing breaths, looked down, looked up again. Closed his eyes and some time in between heartbeats opened up to the universe and touched Zen.

His father's watched him do it before. Seconds before the final round of a championship chargeball game. Readjusting his headgear and mouthpiece as the Sensei Judges argue about who scored what point, and agree that one more sparring bout was needed.

When he took Lewis back to see his mom...

Analyzing a situation without passing judgment, accepting it, and then delving inside himself. Reaching some core of inner peace and power that allowed him to do…incredible things…like place his unconditional trust and entire existence in the hands of his twelve-year-old father…

Perfectly aware that even the slightest alteration could mean…everything…and not holding it against Lewis at all…

It's the heroic, selfless sort of act that keeps Cornelius up late at night—terrified over what he could've lost.

Wilbur locked eyes with his dad, smiling as he mouthed the word "us."

Cornelius nodded encouragingly.

"Us" Wilbur repeated more loudly.

"Huh?" Sean asked, interrupted from his brainstorm.

Cornelius turned the large frame on his desk; all the Robinsons were squished tightly within the photo.

And there just slightly off center stood the Doctor, arms wrapped tightly around his wife and son.

"My greatest achievement."

Sean blinked, making a note of it—which he'd later edit out of his essay…Because really…sentimentality had no place in success.

* * *

Robert Johnson couldn't help but smile—any vestiges of remaining worry vanishing.

Visiting the vending machine for a candy bar and soda (afternoon pick-me-up), he walked right past the cafeteria—Glimpsing the two Robinsons.

Cornelius and son had _**claimed**_ a table in the far left corner. Despite its size, the surface was covered in notebook pages, blueprints, comic books, calculators, and…Dr. Johnson squinted…a wrench?

They'd cleared the middle of the table for themselves and lunch. Cornelius had grabbed some burgers from the Meal Synthesizer (Yet another brilliant invention—that was finishing up its beta testing here at R.I).

Neil set it up here a few months ago, knowing that only sheer volume of orders would crop up any last glitches.

And who would complain? Free lobster, steak, and prime ribs—oh yeah, being an R.I. scientist had great benefits.

Robert Johnston had paused a moment, just watching them interact.

They were so different.

Cornelius ate very cleanly; small precise bites that he chewed and swallowed before speaking.

Sitting across from him was his son…who was eating like…a Viking—tearing into his burger with the vigor that only teenage boys can manage; sometimes talking through mouthfuls when he got excited about a subject.

It seemed that his stomach was a bottomless pit for French fries—dipping bunches of them into his vanilla shake before devouring them.

Rather reminiscent of a wood chipper in action…don't let your fingers get too close…

They were currently engrossed in an in-depth conversation about black holes and supernovas; Wilbur occasionally reaching over to slurp his father's soda during pauses.

It was interesting…

Robert had never heard "dude" in the same sentence as "quasar" before.

But he has the distinct feeling that the R.I. staff would get used to it.

Adaptability was one of humanity's best traits after all.

Still, it was hard reconciling the kid who blew out three floors' electricity with this boy chatting up the complexities of the universe.

Though the more he reflected, the more similarities he saw between Wil and the chemist interns. A true enduring love for reactions—blowing stuff up was a hobby.

They just needed to steer him towards environments…er…testing areas where that was acceptable.

He'd find his niche here…eventually (though it may take a while before the physicists trust him in their wing again—frying their supercomputers in fifth grade had left a rather bad impression).

His previous behavior and manner of expression often rubbed scientists the wrong way on initial encounters, but repeated exposure and voila! One came not only to appreciate his sense of humor (a rare quality in their realm) but to expect his upbeat enthusiasm as a constant.

The rest of the staff would learn to love him as much as the veterans who've watched him grow up.

So Wilbur didn't exactly fill the typical science guy mold (polite and meek with a pocket-protector in tow) and probably never would.

Maybe that was exactly what the world needed.

Time to break the stereotypes—revolutionize what "smart" really meant deep down...maybe Wil would be the one to lead it…

Though it wouldn't be easy…

Young and brilliant and bold as Wilbur was, he was just starting out on his life journey—one that Robert could already foresee great obstacles and challenges.

Wilbur was still so young; unsteady, untested, unsure—in need of a firm but gentle guiding hand.

He watched Cornelius reach over and ruffle his son's hair—laughing warmly, chest swelled with paternal pride.

Robert smiled as words like _**progeny**_ and _**legacy**_ passed through his mind; that was the future sitting across from his boss, in all its sneaker-ed, t-shirted glory.

* * *

R & R please! : D And I hope you're looking forward to the Final Chapter of Focus!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Meet the Robinsons…Alas…

AN: Here it is! Ta daaaa! Sparkle sparkle sparkle! The last chapter of Focus! I'm always so delighted when I finish something (even though it's often slightly bittersweet).

I'm glad you've enjoyed it and I hope you walk away with a smile!

Reviews mean the world to me! And I know it's time-consuming to stop and write them—especially when there are so many more stories to read.

But I reeeeeeaaaaallllly appreciate them—they motivate me the way nothing else can.

Thank you to: Simply Enchanted, Simply Frost, Radioactive Nerd, Waiyi, adptt12, UnkeptMind, MsDiamondFrost, EmK, fallenangel, Zak-Monday, skyprincess0956, Writing Destiny, KiraSkywolf, megawoman 5210, mystery1312, PenguinGirl02, WeaverofDaydreams, missiongirl87, Writergirl 98, and SuprSingr (who gives awesome long ones) ; )

Special Thanks to MissingthePoint and AnimeFreak126 who reviewed every single chapter! Huzzah! You know I love ya! : DDD

And now on with the show! ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 7

**CLARITY **

* * *

It was here! It arrived! Cornelius held the small rectangular box (about the length of his hand).

Now where was his son?

All of the lab areas, videogame spots, gardens, and living rooms were empty. The garage, the kitchen, and the boy's bedroom also proved Wilbur-less.

He _**better**_ to be home…if Wilbur had pulled _**another**_ Houdini on him…

A thorough search of the house found him in his mother's music room. Apparently afternoon practice had finished up and the frogs had the night off.

Cornelius couldn't help just standing there in an alcove, enjoying the sight of his wife and son—both seated amiably at a table.

His family…

It still sent a thrill of joy and gratitude through him.

He was such a lucky man! To think he'd been so pessimistic at twelve, when this was what was waiting for him around the corner!

Wilbur was wearing those awful specs and had apparently nabbed a clipboard from Neil's desk. Combined with the professional air he's trying to give off, he looked very much like a child trying to fill too large of shoes; which always made Neil smile.

Cornelius has plenty of memories of a young Wilbur stealing his labcoat and goggles. He'd find his boy in the playroom surrounded by toys he was "sperimenting" on.

"Sooo Dr. Francesca A. Robinson. For the record, why don't you use the Doctor bit?"

Neil felt a slight twinge of disappointment that he hadn't chosen Dad for the interview—but the pride of seeing Wilbur motivated for extra credit far outweighed that.

Franny tapped her chin, "I don't know Sweetie, other than for résumé purposes I guess the title just didn't mean that much to me."

"Ah well, I guess it does cut down on confusion at any rate. You, Grandma, _**and**_ Dad. I'm practically surrounded by Doctors. Anyways, moving on. Frogs. Why frogs?"

"Well they DO have more musical ability than people."

"…Kay. But what made you decide that you wanted to make frogs sing? I mean, did you wake up one day, brush your teeth and go" he put on a squeaky, girly voice "_I want my frogs to sing jazz_!" He coughed and said in his normal tone "Or was this a combination of things. Were you like…ya' know…lookin' for a gimmick or something?"

"It just made sense to me. That's the only way I can describe it."

"Music and animals made sense to you?"

"Harmony of life."

"Hmm. Well that's handy."

Franny raised an eyebrow.

"Life doesn't make sense to me" Wilbur shrugged.

"What does?" Franny asked lightly; though her husband knew her well enough to see that she was fishing. It was hard getting Wilbur to open up about his hopes for the future or his personal philosophies. Besides, default answers like professional "Chargeball Champ" and "Stuff happens…cuz it does" he never really discussed things.

"I dunno…robotics I guess"

"Like Carl?"

He blinked "Well yeah, Carl makes tons of sense to me. Though his system's a little too advanced for me. I usually learn through trial and error with him. He's a good sport"

Franny gracefully swept toward him, "Oh?"

"Yeah, I've fried him like eight times already, but I'm getting the hang of his wiring" he fiddled with his glasses a bit "These'll probably help…ya know, _**reading**_ the blueprints through instead of just going off what I _**think**_ the diagram is outlining."

"So glasses aren't so bad after all?"

"…I'm getting used to it."

His mother grinned as she sat down riiiight beside him, snuggled up, and planted a kiss on his cheek. "My little engineer" she gushed.

"This isn't very professional ma'am."

"Oh, sorry sir" she moved back to her seat, crossing her ankles demurely.

He went on to question her about her childhood, any fears about her future, or doubts regarding her whole quest.

Throughout the interview her chair kept scooting closer, until she was peering over his shoulder at his notes.

"Mooom!" he growled.

She pulled back, smiling apologetically.

"Soo who would you say inspired you most?"

"Hmm. Frank Sinatra, Louie Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald. But I'd have to say the person who made the largest impact on me was your father."

"Reeeally?"

"Well of course. I thought he was so brave and smart. He just _**went**_ for his dreams. I always greatly admired him for that. And then…the way he encouraged me to follow mine. O Sweetie, when I looked into your Daddy's eyes and he told me how he wanted us to follow our dreams together. That we could build something invaluable and everlasting, I just knew he-"

"-Eh eh neh neh neh eh" Wilbur made an angry buzzer sound. "This is for history! Not literature. I don't wanna a romance special."

Franny pouted. She adored their love-story. Oh well. Maybe Wilbur would grow some interest in the next few years.

"So your family supported you in your endeavors?"

"Heavens no! Everybody thought I was crazy! For a while even me!" she laughed lightly.

Wilbur fiddled with his pen; tapping it on the clipboard and then clicking it against his teeth before twirling it in his fingers.

"And….what made you stop…ya'know, thinking that?"

"Thinking what, Sweetheart?"

"Ya know…crazy"

She smiled warmly at her son.

"Well, I stopped caring."

Wilbur blinked and sat forward earnestly curious, "How?"

"Well it wasn't easy, but eventually I realized that those people don't get to decide how I feel, that's up to me and me alone."

She caught her son's eye and motioned him to come closer, he obliged.

"And you know what?"

"…What?"

"I feel sorry for people who aren't a little crazy. They're completely unable to think outside the box. No imagination"

"Soo…you think it's a good thing?"

"I think it's a wonderful thing"

"But how do you know if you're crazy-brilliant or just plain ol' grab-me-a-straight-jacket crazy?"

His mother laughed and wrapped an arm around him, resting her head lightly on his, "Alright what crazy schemes are you plotting, Sweetie?"

"…When you say that I can be whatever I want to be…do you mean it? Or is that just the "_**right**_" answer that parents are s'posed to give for support and stuff."

"….You may not be a rodeo clown."

"Agreed…clowns creep me out anyways."

"Mmm, you probably got that from me."

"It's just, I'm pretty sure my brand of crazy is certifiable. I mean, not even _**I**_ am exactly sure what I wanna do or how I'd do it if I did—which I'm not saying I _**do**_ know I just—Is that okay?"

"Your father and I are proud of you. Always. We'll support you for whatever path you choose. And you're sooo young Sweetie. You have your whole future ahead of you; you've got plenty of time to decide. Life's a journey not a race. We know you'll find your direction."

Cornelius grinned from the sidelines. He married such a great woman.

* * *

Franny smiled, catching sight of her husband.

Cornelius motioned to the box in his hand, mouthing '_It's here!'_

His board (which he had hidden in their closet, so a certain pair of prying eyes wouldn't find it) has been plastered with designs and diagrams. He pulled several all-nighters making sure every last detail was correct before sending his schematics in.

Then he spent the better part of the following week struggling through excitement, anticipation, hesitance, and a hint of dread.

And now the moment had come.

"Looks like he's discovered us" she announced loudly, wrapping both arms around her boy.

Her son straightened as Neil approached, no doubt wondering about the elated expression on his face.

"Francesca! A younger man?" Cornelius replied in mock indignation, grin widening.

"Tall dark and handsome. Such gorgeous good looks, though I can't imagine where he gets them from"

Wilbur rolled his eyes. His parents…

His dad ruffled his hair while his mother squeezed him close.

"Got something for you Kiddo" Cornelius replied.

Wilbur blinked as a package was placed in his hands.

His father nodded eagerly, "Go on."

Wilbur opened the parcel curiously, pulling out a rectangular silver case. He clicked it open revealing a unique set of frames:

A distinctive cross between sunglasses, safety glasses and snowboarder goggles; one sheet of seamless glass curved across the face for the lenses.

Cornelius watched Wilbur's expression closely.

He'd been slaving over this project since their visit to the optometrist—hoping to make a great surprise that'll ease his son's transition to "Nerdom."

It'd been a tricky enterprise: each eye was a little different; it'd taken several tries to blend yet separate the prescriptions correctly. The joy of stigmatism…

The frames themselves were a dark brushed metal, and he'd had the glass tinted light blue—after all the boy looked good in shades of blue, or so Franny insisted…since she was always right, he went along.

The hinges started off thick before tapering down to the earpieces, giving plenty of space to have a large thin R superimposing over a thin I running along each side.

Maybe that was a little hubris, but it would be nice to see Wil sporting a logo other than Captain Time Travel.

"Well?" Moment of truth. Corneluis held his breath.

"You designed these for me?"

"You better believe it Kiddo. These are no ordinary specs." He assured, appealing to Wil's fixation with gadgets. "See this dial here?"

He carefully took the frames from his son, and pointed to an almost imperceptible knob on the hinge. Then began twisting it, "Sunglasses, now thermal, night vision and now" he turned it again, the rims glowed.

Wilbur leaned closer, "Way cool!"

Music to Neil's ears; He knows his eyes are bloodshot and that he's exhausted from all the work those frames required, but seeing his son's genuine enthusiasm was well worth it.

"Oh! I'm grabbing the camera!" Franny announced, rushing out of the room. Her baby was going to look so charming; the moment had to be captured.

"Not too shabby, if I do say so myself" Cornelius grinned "And there's one more feature."

He lowered his voice down to a whisper, "One I'm certain you'll appreciate and keep to yourself…and not tell your mother."

Now Wilbur's interest was peaked.

Cornelius looked around; making sure his wife wasn't nearby.

"Okay, now if you twist the left earpiece three times to the left, and then twist the bridge twice…"

Wilbur watched in awe as a red light beam shone out, singeing the coffee table.

Cornelius quickly turned it off by twisting the left earpiece a final time to the left—returning the frames to their harmless state.

He glanced at his son "Ta da!"

"My. Very. Own. Laser. I've been asking for one since-"

"-you turned six-"

"You remember?"

"Of course Son. You've never been exactly subtle"

Wilbur flushed a bit and looked down.

He reached over and ruffled his boy's hair.

"Cool enough?"

Wilbur scuffed a foot along the ground, "Sooo…I'm the only one in the world with a pair like these?"

"One-of-a-kind frames for a one-of-a-kind kid" his father replied, handing him the glasses.

"Thanks Dad" Wilbur slipped them on, beaming that 100 Watt grin.

The one Neil used to receive everyday until Wil got older and Dad got lamer. The one that meant_, Dad you're my hero_.

"Ooooh, look how handsome!" Franny squealed delightedly as she reappeared in the doorway "My boys! Stand together, stand together now," she instructed, raising the camera. "I want a picture of my two favorite inventors!"

* * *

"Dad?"

"Yeah Buddy?"

Franny had sped off to show her newly developed photo masterpieces to the rest of the family while Wilbur and Cornelius readied themselves.

The three of them were going out to celebrate with ice cream. Heaven knew it'd been a trying few weeks, and all involved needed some family fun.

Wilbur was coming into his own—albeit a bit shyly, which wasn't unusual—teenhood was always a struggle for self-identity.

Mom and Dad were properly integrating themselves back into Wilbur's daily schedule—very important during such a crucial chapter of their son's life. How he learned to view life and deal with its challenges now would shape his perspective as an adult.

They'd get through this one step at a time.

"Wil?" the inventor prompted.

"…" Wilbur glanced back hesitantly.

"You can talk to me about _**anything**_" Cornelius assured him.

Wilbur made a slight disbelieving sound in his throat.

"Lewis might've grown up but he didn't disappear. And while I'll always be your Dad first, I'd like to still be your friend."

Wil groaned, "Time travel…"

The boy glanced at his father who watched him, amused.

"You're…not the same."

"I am. Just older and wiser and easily annoyed by PTA meetings."

Wilbur frowned, "Exactly! Friends don't read friends bedtime stories or tuck them in and…stuff."

"Yup I've seen you through it all Wil. From diapers to denim jeans and sneakers."

Wilbur ran a fretful hand over his hair, "Weird. See, we're not on equal footing anymore, it doesn't balance out."

Cornelius raised an eyebrow, "If I didn't know better Wil, I'd think you were offended by the fact that I take care of you. You know, I've been doing so for the entirety of your life."

"I _**know**_ that. I've lived it. But when I traveled back, I was trying to, ya know, _**save**_ you. And then I, ya know, met you. And you weren't…you. Which at first really confused me. But I got used to you. And now its hard to reconcile Then!You with Now!You. Ya know?"

"That I was young once?"

"_**You**_ were more like _**me**_ then. I totally got you. And then it was all over and I came back."

Cornelius barely refrained from commenting the inverse: he was the parent, if anyone was "more like" someone. It was because Wilbur inherited some of _**his**_ traits.

"So you see, I'm not the one who changed" Wilbur muttered.

"I grew up" Cornelius agreed "I wouldn't trade that for anything. I really liked being your best friend Wil, but I LOVE being your dad more."

Wilbur blinked not sure what to make of that statement—should he be insulted that his friendship could be so easily tossed aside? Or did he make a better son than friend? _Tch. Not likely._

"You made quite an impact on me. Before you embarked on your 'rescue mission' to my past, I was rather antisocial. I couldn't express myself very easily. I was so wrapped up in believing that my inventions would pave my way to success that I worked on them instead of myself. _I_ needed the tune up."

"…you were upset about your family…that's understandable. I can't imagine my life without you and Mom."

Cornelius smiled; and if he had any power over that, Wil would _**never**_ experience it.

"Yes, but I was so fixated on what I'd lost in the past. I couldn't move forward and work towards my future. Enter you. Fast-talking, suave, optimistic you who pushed my fears off the table like they were unfounded."

Cornelius shook his head in remembrance. He'd been indignant at Wilbur's casual dismissal of his concerns. Which later made…so much sense.

"You were the enigma Wil; constantly confounding me at every turn—because you seemed to genuinely support my quest for happiness while simultaneously sabotaging it."

Wilbur offered an apologetic smile which his father laughed off—reaching over and giving him a quick good-natured noogie.

The teen laughed and swatted him away.

"You can't even imagine the surprise I felt when Michael revealed our connection."

"Sooo you had a Maury-vid moment. You ARE the father."

Cornelius chuckled, "Yes. Especially shocking at twelve."

"Heh, still in the 'girls-have-cooties' phase?" His dad flicked him lightly in the shoulder.

"I learned that I had a family. A wonderful family-"

"Heh, a crazy family-" Wilbur snickered.

"I just didn't have them _**yet**_. Before I knew it, we straightened everything out and then…you were gone. Almost like a dream. I readjusted to life, opened up to new experiences, made new friends, and had more adventures. Your handful of visits meant a lot to me though; any time too great a gap started, I worried that I botched things again or imagined it all."

It was a true fear that gnawed away at him, every time Wilbur flew off. Would he see him again?

He cared about him so much.

Lewis had wondered about that continually through their adventure. It was an inexplicable closeness. Wilbur acted so comfortably around him. Normally all the kids at school tended to avoid weird ones like Lewis. _**Freaky smart**_…a brand that exiled you even from the outcast nerd cliques.

Wilbur hadn't batted an eye though. His up-close, in-your-face persona wasn't intimidated in the least by Lewis' intelligence or prickly character.

But even then there'd been something deeper; A link between them that he couldn't explain. The fear he'd felt when Wilbur almost got eaten…he'd been prepared to do _**whatever**_ it took to save him. Didn't even think twice about it…

Being twelve at the time and emotionally dense, the concept of love existing anywhere but between a mother and her child was an alien thing. Especially love for a fellow kid.

When he learned Wil had been deceiving him the whole time…

He was no stranger to betrayal. He'd been set up multiple times by other kids at the orphanage. With his…destructive reputation it was easy to blame broken toys and appliances on him. At school, he'd been used as a homework machine—people would always get friendly with him whenever reports were to be done.

But being used by Wilbur had hurt so much more. And he hadn't known why.

His future son…all the pieces clicked into place…Of course Wilbur couldn't let him stay in the future or change the past; that would put his entire existence into jeopardy.

Despite that Wilbur would later gave him that very chance.

'_We agreed that, if you fixed the time machine, I'd take you back to see your mom…'_

"Dad? Hello?"

Cornelius blinked and gave himself a mental shake. That always stirred dread in the pit of his stomach.

He'd put so much emphasis on his mother—that SHE was his only true family—Wilbur disregarded his own place in that equation.

"Dad? You okay?"

"Yes, yes. Just reminiscing a bit. Where was I?"

"Our time fiasco became like a dream?"

"Yes, but then everything began falling into place. Luck really smiled on me. I managed to woo your mother; a great feat in any right. We fell madly, desperately, and passionately in love" Cornelius knew exactly how that'd be received, and wasn't disappointed—Wilbur pulled a disgusted, gagging face.

"We got married, continued following our dreams and then…I met you again" He tapped his son's nose affectionately. "Officially. And this time…I got to keep you."

Wilbur blinked…having never really thought of it like that. Here he felt that he was the gypped one: only getting to travel back once in a while—needing to be careful where the time-space continuum's involved.

He never really thought Lewis could actually miss him…he _knew_ was going to see him in the future.

Though on reflection, the other boy _**did**_ always look wistful when he'd take off.

His friend was…looking forward to becoming his dad?

'_Any time too great a gap started, I worried that I botched things again.'_

Again? Wilbur pondered. Again? Wait a minute. He didn't actually blame himself for Wil's whole vanishing into oblivion thing?

"Sooo…you were…waiting for all of this" Wil waved an arm around—with his lack of patience, he couldn't imagine enduring such an unbearable wait…decades "And…to have all of us together…"

"And to stay together" Cornelius finished lightly.

Wilbur contemplated that quietly for a few moments before erupting, "Look I get most of that and you're my dad and I love you, but you're old now and you give me chores and make me brush my teeth and stuff! That's _**not**_ what friends do!" he pointed at his father for extra emphasis.

"Well as your dad I AM the boss of you" Neil laughed good-naturedly before smirking suddenly, "You know Wilbur, you're going to grow up too. One day you'll be in my spot arguing that you're not too old and lame to-"

"Blasphemy. I'll always be awesome." Stated point-blank and straight-faced—as if any suggestion of otherwise was sacrilege.

Cornelius burst out laughing—so hard that he started to wheeze a bit.

"I'm going to remember this Wil" he choked out "And I'm going to relish sharing it with your rebellious teenager who finds _**you**_ stuffy, bossy, outdated, and overprotective."

Wilbur frowned, brow furrowing in thought. His future…

"Thirty years from now seems like an eternity, huh Buddy?" the elder Robinson smiled knowingly.

Wilbur nodded begrudgingly, "Do you…do you think things are going to change now? All this talk's getting me to think that these" he fiddled with his glasses "are just the tip of the iceberg."

"Yes. Everything changes a little bit at a time. But I think it'll be for the better Wil."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Just got to have some faith" He clapped a strong hand on his boy's shoulder, "We'll keep moving forward-"

"-even into uncertainty?" Wilbur murmured.

"No matter what the future has in store, we'll face it together Son" Cornelius assured.

* * *

Vanilla ice cream cone in hand, (he'd always been a slow eater) Cornelius browsed the shelves of "Big Mac's Comic Shack."

It'd been a while since Wil last visited, and seeing him gaze longingly from his hovercar window, had persuaded Neil to pull into their parking lot.

Don't let the name fool you, the store's the size of a palace.

Passing aisles devoted to Marvel and DC with muted interest, Cornelius strolled along.

Their earlier conversation had stirred up more reflection on Neil's part.

He glanced up seeing his wife and son in front of the Captain Time Travel section. Not limited to mere comic books but the whole shebang: lunchboxes, posters, 3-D displays of cast members.

Franny was holding up a windbreaker against Wilbur, trying to gage the right size. He was due for another growth spurt pretty soon, so it was best to buy a little on the larger size, but not so much that he was swimming in it. Tricky because Wil had such a thin frame…

Meanwhile, Wilbur seemed mesmerized by a satchel with his superhero's insignia on it.

He held it up hopefully; because "messenger bags were way cooler than backpacks" and he was "gonna be a seventh-grader" followed by a "Pleeeeeeeassse Mom."

Franny countered with a "We'll think about it."

Wilbur sighed dramatically as he turned away, clutching the desired item between his hands.

He reluctantly placed it back on a hanging rack with its fellows.

As Wil turned he spotted Neil and waved, "Hey Dad!"

The inventor waited to be begged at for money—for hopeful big brown eyes and a long-winded spiel as to why he absolutely, positively will perish-on-the-spot if he cannot have it.

It didn't come and his son simply stood beside him, happy for his company.

He rested an arm across his boy's shoulders, shifting his weight as Wilbur leaned against him—trusting Cornelius to support him.

If Wilbur wanted to be next to Dad right now, well that was just fine…

Both were content to stand there and watch Mom dig through a rack of CTT sweatshirts for Wil's size.

Cornelius supposed that as a kid he'd always been fascinated by mothers. Hearing phrases about a mother's love for her baby. How she'd love and protect and nurture her child. How it seemed that just about every mammal in the animal kingdom had young that depend on their mom.

And he was abandoned on a doorstep by his.

He'd agonized over that for most of his childhood. His mother. He was supposed to have a mother, and she was supposed to love and cherish him.

He only thought about them. As if there was one line connecting them to each other…completely dismissing that their relationship was part of a triangle…

For every child born to a woman, a man was involved…

It was actually rather questionable, if his birth father even knew of his existence.

But young Lewis (whose life lacked a great deal of male role models) shrugged it off.

It wasn't until he'd been adopted and spent bonding time with Bud Robinson that he learned of the invaluable role of a father.

Children really thrived with BOTH parents.

Now that he WAS a dad, it seemed almost exceedingly ignorant of him to dismiss such an important position.

"_I'm Wilbur's…Dad?"_

At such a young age he didn't fully appreciate that fact or how vitally that piece would contribute to his happiness.

Growing up he'd had a multitude of fantasies most of which revolved around finding his birth mother, who'd celebrate his return, and going on to become a world renown inventor.

Who cared about dads? Let alone becoming one…

Falling in love, marrying, and having a baby were the farthest thing from his mind…

Now, he couldn't even imagine a future worth living without his wife and child in it.

The tenderness and intimacy that came with finding your soul mate. Holding Franny to him, knowing they belonged to one another in every sense of the phrase…

It was like suddenly having the other half of yourself and you wonder how you survived without it.

And then there was Wilbur.

Even as a teenager, knowing he was going to have a son; it seemed more like a responsibility than a godsend.

One he was willing to take under wing of course (he cared about Wilbur too much to even contemplate an alternate future), but not without a sense of weariness.

He remembered thinking that while Wilbur was a great friend, he'd be a hellion of a son.

Very independent and thrill-seeking and stubborn…

Witty, slightly obnoxious, exuberant, persevering, and strong…

In other words, Wilbur was Wilbur, and remembering their adventures together, the thirteen-year-old hadn't really needed either of his parents at all.

Why young Cornelius had been sure that he could essentially leave Wilbur to his own devices, the kid was resilient and self-sufficient.

He'd lay down the rules of the household, stand back and let the kid go.

Heh, so naïve…

When he cradled his little blue-blanketed bundle of joy, all those preconceived notions flew out the window.

Here was a tiny little person who only depended on him for _**absolutely**_ EVERYTHING.

Caring for his son, teaching him, guiding him, watching him grow…

Remembering how he'd scramble onto his lap with picture books, or cling to his legs, or beg him for piggy back rides.

Seeing Wilbur race around with oversized shoes pilfered from his father's closet, because he wanted to be like Daddy.

And what an honor that was...being his child's hero.

The bitter resentment and hurt he'd once felt at his biological parents had faded to an occasional melancholy: now he just felt…sad for them.

The thought of missing any piece of Wilbur's life seemed like the worst sort of punishment.

* * *

Sweatshirt in hand (Franny's mission was successful), Wilbur sped towards the checkout station—his parents following at a more leisurely pace.

He darted between displays, jumped over comic readers who'd decided to sit in the middle of the floor, weaved through several die-hard Star-Trek fans who were reading aloud favorite excerpts, and dodged a huge Plexiglas sign at the last minute.

He immediately spotted the store manager, a portly thirty-year old man in a t-shirt and jeans with a CTT baseball cap.

He was bending over a new shipment of _Galaxia the StarFire-Fox_ merchandise, when Wilbur bounded up.

"Hey Rod!"

"Hey Wilbur!" Rodney had known him almost his whole life "Got some glasses?" he asked easily.

"H-how did you know?"

The man wasn't even looking at him!

"Kid," he turned, raising a bushy eyebrow "that's the first time in the decade that I've known you—that you haven't run into that sign."

Wilbur flushed, eyeing the clear board embarrassedly. He rubbed his neck uncomfortably; _Sheesh was it that apparent to everyone?_ "Eeeyeah, I…I got some new glasses."

Rodney appraised him a moment, taking in his new look solemnly before flashing a smile, "T_rès_ chic little man."

Wilbur grinned back, feeling more confident, "Yeah they're awesome, my dad made them."

"Didn't know R.I. made stuff like that"

"They don't. Dad designed these special, just for me. He can make _**anything**_ you know" Wilbur boasted.

Franny felt her lips curl into a smile as she overheard that remark. Her husband had gone smug beside her—that compliment doing loads for his ego.

Too bad Wil didn't say it to his face, but this was yet another trial of parenthood—muted gratitude—usually there but good luck hearing it announced.

"Think you'll miss your pre-spectacle days?" the manager asked.

"Nah, it won't be sooo bad. I mean they ARE detachable you know," Wil demonstrated, lifting them off once before settling them back on his nose.

A new look, new clarity, and a better perspective had sharpened his world into focus—his future was in _**his**_ hands and he knew what he wanted to aspire to.

"And besides," Wilbur continued confidently, "now I'm just like my Dad. And if he can still be awesome with them, then _**I **_can too."

* * *

The End

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